Resurrection
by PythianPickles
Summary: "Akame stared, struggled to control herself. 'That's impossible,' she said finally. 'He's dead. I saw him die.' 'I was there too,' Najenda answered. 'But this description...this skill that they say he has...there's no one else like that.'" Rated T for scenes of violence, and some romance. Akame x Tatsumi.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

There were times when Akame was tempted to just let her finger slip.

Her trump card had worked its power once, but she knew it was forever out of her reach now. Another cut would leave her the same as her countless victims, pale and dead.

But was that so terrible?

She had only one true friend left within the Empire. The rest, a certain brown-haired boy among them, were nothing but memories now—but that could change in an instant.

Akame's life had ended with Night Raid, anyway; all she lived for now was murder. A life like that tended to tire a person.

In her reclusive dwelling in the forest, her dealings were with mere animals, occasionally Danger Beasts, but her hands would forever be marred by blood. Human blood.

She had kept herself alive, suspended her guilt, for the happiness of the countless innocents struggling through life in the former Empire. Even if she hadn't admitted it to herself during the struggle, she knew that her own happiness had been waiting at that finish line.

That happiness was nowhere to be found. The Empire had entered a new age. No obligations remained.

Her departure wouldn't affect her promise to Najenda. The Empire would rejoice at the death of a heinous criminal, one who carried the wrongdoings of the Revolutionary Army on her shoulders. The world would move on. One way or another, her separation from Tatsumi and the rest of Night Raid would end.

It made sense emotionally—even logic was beginning to cave, buckling towards the same conclusion.

She couldn't bring herself to do it.

It wasn't a fear of pain that held her back. She felt certain that Murasame would deal gently with her, respect her wishes. At any rate, her training had long hardened her to both pain and death. The grief was another story, but it wasn't enough to make her take that final step.

There was more than that, though. Some insidious corner of her mind was convinced, unwaveringly, of an impossible truth.

 _Tatsumi is alive. He's waiting._

She could not shake the feeling. He was dead; she had seen him die. His broken body had been shattered along with Esdeath's. If he existed, it was as a smattering of water droplets on someone's window, not as the boy she had known. Even so, the conviction stubbornly held on, and that was enough to keep her from unsheathing her sword and slipping.

Besides, they'd promised each other, hadn't they?

Akame smiled wistfully—and tensed, her hand flying automatically to Murasame.

 _Someone's here._

She frowned, listened again. She would have to be more careful. Daydreaming could be fatal, for someone in her state.

The distant sounds resolved themselves into crunching footsteps. They sounded light, of a child, but Akame knew all too well that age didn't affect the ability to kill.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" a voice called.

 _The end of the beginning  
_

* * *

 **Hey there!**

 **This is my first fanfiction for the wonderful world of Akame ga Kill, so forgive me if I've gotten any canon wrong. I'm about to uproot half of it anyway—buckle up, I guess. The next chapter, if it's published, will be much longer.**

 **I'd really appreciate it if you dropped a review in the hat. It's my first time writing for this community, and I'm not entirely sure what you guys are interested in reading. How's the story? Suggestions? Want more? Leave a few words behind!**

 **I'll be more encouraged to update if there are a decent amount of reviews. Otherwise, I might just pack up the tent and set up shop elsewhere.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, if you've gotten this far. Quick thing:**

 **DISCLAIMER: To all lawyers seeking a court case, I do not in any way own (or claim ownership of) Akame ga Kill or any associated media.**


	2. Chapter 1

**1**

Whether it was for days, months, or years that he fell through the darkness, Tatsumi wasn't sure. There was only one thing he was sure of now.

He was dead.

It was the only thing true here, where voices screamed, laughed, and almost seemed to possess physical dimensions, brushing against his limbs and body like wispy branches as he fell. A breath whispered roughly against his cheek; a child's voice cried out. The voices had accompanied him for an immeasurable amount of time, but there was still no identifiable pattern to them.

Was this his fate, to spiral down through a black void forever? The elders of his small village had never thought of anything like this, obsessed as some were with matters of death and the afterlife.

No, they had very different theories.

When he'd left, most had insisted that nothingness was what awaited those who died, a state where the mind no longer existed. Tatsumi didn't buy it. He wasn't sure what he was experiencing, but at the moment he was existing as much as he ever had in life.

Of course, other theories existed, theories that Tatsumi tried to keep out of his mind as he fell. Still, his thoughts flashed briefly to smoke, fire, molten rock—

 _No. Don't._

Thin laughter sounded around him, as if the voices found his terror amusing. Then again, why wouldn't they? It seemed that anyone here remained long enough to lose their mind, let alone a little thing like empathy.

Was this where Bulat and Sheele had ended up too? With the thought, his exhausted mind was struck by memories of their deaths, agonizing horrors of blood and pain. Even through his despair he'd held onto the hope that they were at peace, happy somehow. This was no place for those who'd suffered as much as they had.

His vision swam with tears, both of renewed grief and terror. As if the memory had triggered some internal switch, more images were in front of him, their grim contents seemingly tinting the darkness red. Phantom pains coursed through him as he remembered.

 _Lubbock. Mine. Ieyasu. Sayo…_

They were all there, accompanied by a multitude of faceless others—those who'd died in front of his eyes, some of them by his own hand.

The voices' murmurs rose to an accusing clamor.

Something about the chaos around him had changed, subtly, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was more than the tone of the whispers around him; even the darkness seemed different, lighter somehow. Why, then, did he feel so much dread? The grisly images around him had faded, but something of them seemed to remain there, something he couldn't quite—

All at once, he saw.

The darkness really _was_ rippling with red light, rolling waves that seemed to come from beneath him. Where there was light, he knew, there was always a source. Several explanations came to mind, none of them good. Still, he couldn't help himself.

He looked down.

A gleam of light twinkled beneath him, looking for all the world like a distant star. Another glimmered in the corner of his eye; a pair twinkled not far away. The voices had stopped too, like spectators finally seeing the curtains draw back at a theater. Tatsumi had time for an instant of foreboding before—

The stars exploded in a sheet of white light.

Tatsumi's eyes flew shut almost by themselves. The light shone as a dull red glow, even on the inside of his eyelids. He had no desire to face that head on, not after spending so much time in darkness. Strangely enough, his skin felt as cold as ever, even as the glow intensified.

Around him, the explosion's roar faded to a dry, whispering wind. The dull red glow disappeared as the breeze grew stronger. The whispers, along with the sensation of falling, had vanished.

It seemed he had escaped that terrible darkness for now.

Tatsumi just lay there, enjoying the first true rest he had gained since his death. Maybe this was what they'd meant by "resting in peace."

He was able to think that for a blissful five seconds before an impossible voice shattered his reverie.

* * *

Stealth and tracking had been a large part of Akame's training. She could find a target as skillfully as any bloodhound, with considerably less noise. That was one reason why it took her about half a minute to locate her latest intruder.

Of course, it helped that this intruder shouted out the same forlorn call every ten seconds, like clockwork.

"Please, is anyone there?"

If this really was an assassin trying to find Akame, she (grudgingly) had to acknowledge their persistence. Still, even her hardened mind had trouble identifying the sight before her as anything but harmless.

A little girl stood in the clearing. Her back was to Akame and she was a fair distance away, but even from here, Akame could see her blond bob of hair, almost orange because of the setting sun. The tattered white skirt she was wearing stood out just as brightly, despite the splotches of dirt scattered across it. As Akame watched, the girl yelled again.

"Hello?"

It had to be a trap. The girl was too helpless, too innocent. Why would she choose to go into these woods? Everyone living nearby knew about the beasts that roamed here at night. It was far too late, and the girl would've had to start her journey at midday. The nearest settlement that Akame knew of was a fair distance away from here—a journey that she couldn't imagine a little girl like this undertaking alone.

Unless, of course, she wasn't.

There was no other way that this could've been a trap. Even if the girl was faking her innocence, Akame could sense no killing intent emanating from her. Maybe she was masking it, somehow, but—

"Please, it's getting dark and I'm scared!"

 _Oh, what the hell._

Akame dropped down from her perch in the tree, landing silently on the forest floor. Moving slowly, concealing herself in the shadows, she crept towards the girl.

 _End of Chapter One_

* * *

 **It's short, I know. I have a habit of obsessing over every line I write, so it's this or a five-month wait per chapter (sorry). I'll try not to keep you all waiting for too long.**

 **And gosh, I really was surprised by just how many of you responded! I've** _ **really**_ **got to thank you all for the favorites, follows, and reviews. I was expecting about 3-4 responses total, maybe a follow or two—certainly not the number I ended up getting. Again, thank you. I'd give a shout-out to each of the people that gave their support, but inevitably I'd forget someone. That doesn't make me any less grateful, though.**

 **I'd appreciate it if you told me what you thought of this chapter; I'm always looking to make things easier and better-looking for you guys. Speaking of which, I'll keep trying to up the chapter lengths while keeping efficiency (though it's always been hard for me).**

 **Thanks for reading! Time to end on a high note.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own Akame ga Kill or any media associated with it. Not saying I do, not going to try.**


	3. Chapter 2

**2**

Something was crawling around in his ear.

The boy wasn't sure how he had gone to sleep here in the first place, but it seemed to him the most remarkable thing he had ever accomplished. The sun beat against his skin, rolling over him in waves of heat.

Whatever was in his ear gave it another prod; he could feel it buzzing now and then. He hadn't awakened enough to feel much, but merely the pitch of its whine told him that it would itch.

A lot.

Still, he didn't move. Whatever had happened to him, it had left him with about as much movement as an eighty-year old man. He was sprawled facedown on the road, he knew, and something hard was poking into his stomach, but he felt it in the same way that one would feel a feather brushing against their back, or a gust of wind. Moving didn't matter.

It seemed nobody else thought it mattered, either—he felt like he'd been here for years.

Then a faint voice yelled, "Get out of the road, idiot!"

Well, almost nobody.

Just a few more minutes—the yell had sounded fairly distant, after all—

"Hey."

The voice was much closer now, almost in his ear; he could feel the force of each word it spoke. "Look here, buddy. You might have time to lay in the road like a cow, but that doesn't mean that the rest of us don't have places to be, all right?"

The boy tried to tell him that he'd had a long day, that he was tired, anything really—but all that came out of his mouth was a faint whine.

It came out of his nose, really. His mouth didn't want to move at the moment.

A snort sounded, somewhere above him. "You gonna play dead, then? Well, that's okay. Between my cart and its horses, I think you'll play the part just fine."

No, the boy didn't want that. He forced his eyes open, giving an awkward sort of twitch.

The first thing that floated into focus was a mane of white and gray, a mess of beard and hair. Next to follow was the rounded, wrinkled nose, so lined that for a moment the boy thought he was looking at a bearded tree. As quickly as it had appeared, the nightmarish face floated back out of view.

"He lives!" Several crunches sounded as the man began to walk away, presumably back to his cart. "Now, if you don't mind, get off the road."

Against his will, the boy's eyelids slammed closed again. He tried to reopen them, but they felt as if they were being held down.

There was a pause in the footsteps.

Then another set of crunches sounded, this time growing louder as the man squatted down beside the boy. He felt a rough hand on his forehead. "You okay, son?"

Somehow, the boy found it in himself to move his head.

Right. Left. Then left. Right. Left…

"Is that supposed to be a 'no'?"

Up. Down. Up—

A rough hand laid itself on his forehead, the heat of it surprising him. For some reason it seemed as if he hadn't felt another person's touch in ages.

The man grunted contemplatively. "Well, you don't have a fever," he said. "If anything, you're actually a bit cold, though how that coulda happened on a day like today beats me…"

He said more things, but the boy wasn't listening anymore. Something was happening. A sense of warmth was rushing through his entire body; some kind of fire seemed to have reignited within him. Suddenly, it seemed possible to move his frozen mouth.

"Help...me," he rasped out, the words almost scratching his throat as they came up.

The old man stopped midsentence, his mouth half open in shock.

* * *

What was she supposed to do?

Akame was so close to the girl now that she could count the splotches on her dress. The girl was glancing into the darkening forest nervously, but her eyes passed over Akame.

The approach had been perfect.

Of course, that had never been a problem for Akame. The real problem was thetalking—she had never done _that_ with her victims before. They were usually dead by now.

Best to start simple, she supposed.

"Hello."

The little girl shrieked and looked wildly around, stumbling backwards. Her gaze settled on Akame. "Wh-who are you?" she demanded.

Akame let a placating smile cross her face. "I was about to ask the same thing."

Casually, she shifted a hand towards Murasame's hilt. If there was a trap here, she'd well and truly sprung it, though that didn't mean she was going let it snap shut without a bit of resistance—

"I asked first!"

—though then again, that was getting harder to believe by the second.

In a way, it would be just as terrifying if the girl were truly just an innocent child: Akame knew from experience with Kurome that they would hang on to something for dear life if they wanted to keep it.

One way or another, she needed to find out what had drawn the girl here. An innocent girl was one thing, but a band of grown men was another. What had she done when her own sister had been in this kind of mood?

Oh.

"Let's make a deal," Akame said, kneeling to match the girl's height. "If you tell me something about yourself, I'll tell you something too. Sound fair?" She desperately hoped it did; Kurome had gotten impossibly cagey if you didn't give her something in return.

Either the girl was in deep thought or she was trying to hold back a sneeze, or both—her expression made it unclear. After some muttering, the girl looked back at Akame. "Fine...but no takebacks!" she said, staring up with a defiant glare.

"Got it," Akame said. "So—"

"I'm going first!" The girl squinted hard at Akame, as if trying to detect any lies. "Who are you?"

Akame hesitated. Although it seemed increasingly unlikely that this girl was part of a trap, she still had to word her answers carefully. It wouldn't be good for anyone to hear about a mysterious girl tramping around in these woods.

"I'm just another girl from nearby," she said finally. "I was worried about you, and I wanted to find out what you were doing here."

Not exactly a lie.

Even so, the girl jabbed a finger at her accusingly. "You didn't tell me your name."

"That'll have to wait until your next turn," Akame said. "It's my turn to ask now." Ignoring the girl's squawk of protest, she asked, "Why'd you come here?"

"That's—" The girl paused with her mouth half open. She seemed almost torn, and her next remark was strained, uncertain. "I'm not supposed to tell," she said slowly.

"I thought we had a deal." Akame let a trace of disappointment creep into her voice, as if the girl had broken some age-old pact of theirs. There were other ways to get an answer, of course, but Akame had never enjoyed employing them, even on grown men. A girl this young certainly didn't deserve to have the experience.

"I—I know," the girl stammered, almost nervously. "But I promised her that I wouldn't say anything…" A second later, she covered her mouth, looking panicked. "I didn't say that, she whispered, almost to herself. "I didn't say that…"

Promised "her"?

With some alarm, Akame noticed that the girl was backing away again. She couldn't let her go now; the situation had changed. The girl's statement had brought up too many disturbing possibilities. "Wait."

"I don't want to do this anymore…"

The girl was backing away, looking nervously into the dark trees behind her.

It was almost completely black now; the shadows had expanded and darkened so that even the girl's white dress had faded to a muted dark grey. Somewhere in the forest, a roar echoed. The Danger Beasts were stirring.

There wasn't much time left.

 _Time to change tactics_ , Akame thought grimly, resting a hand on Murasame. She would regret this, but necessity—

Behind her, a sound: a faint breath, followed by an even fainter clink.

Akame moved before it had even started fading.

With a _scrape_ , Murasame was out of its sheath and in her hand, whistling through the air towards its target—

—only to be stopped, with a ringing clash of metal on metal. She whipped her blade back and turned to face her enemy more fully—

"You!"

* * *

The boy wasn't sure which was more uncomfortable—the sharp rocking of the cart as it rumbled and jostled along the old dirt road, or the questions that the old farmer was asking him.

"...so, let me get this straight. You don't remember anything?" The man cast another glance at him. "Whoa—"

He cursed as a particularly steep pothole nearly toppled him off his seat; then he turned his attention back to the boy. "Not even your name?"

The boy's blank stare was all the answer he needed.

"What about your parents? Or was it just a quick—ahem…" The farmer fixed his eyes on the road again, muttering something about watching out for potholes. His face seemed somewhat redder than before.

Definitely the questions, the boy decided.

"I don't think it was that way," he said. "They raised me. That's the feeling I get when I think of them, even if I can't remember their faces."

He couldn't explain how he knew. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, a desperate attempt to make sense of his identity, but he was sure. That same part of his mind knew that he'd had friends too, but a different feeling—sadness, anger—confronted him when he thought of the concept.

Had he been left to die?

"I'll be honest with you, son," the man said, breaking into his thoughts. "Even if you remembered your parents, I don't think we'd find them anywhere around here. All this…"—he gestured at the boy's head—"...I've never seen anything like it 'round these parts."

"All 'this'?"

"Do you have any idea what you look like at all?" The man gave a snort, cutting off any response. "No, I guess you wouldn't. Just take your hair, and oh, what the heck—your eyes. Brown and green! Folks 'round here, they'd have to buy all sorts of stuff from the capital if they wanted eyes that shade."

Tentatively, the boy felt his hair. It _did_ seem a bit flaky… "How do you know that I didn't do something like that?"

The farmer gave another snort and said, "Never works. But enough of that. Point is—"

"—wherever I'm from, it's nowhere near here." He felt his heart sink even more; he was well and truly lost. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"I'll be damned if I know," the man said. "I deal with plants, not boys that just up and grow out of the air. But," he continued, "my wife might have some ideas. Besides, the way your belly's sounding…"—he paused pointedly as the boy's stomach growled—"...you need some chow to help fix you up."

"You don't need to do that," the boy said hurriedly. "I owe you enough already. Just drop me off somewhere, I can—"

"What, huh? Find a place to eat, pay with that big wallet of yours?" The man reached over and slapped the boy's pants roughly. "Don't know what else you've got in there, but it sure as heck ain't the sound of money. Face it—you need my help, buster."

"Well…"

He was conflicted, for sure. Of course he didn't want to impose on the man's hospitality, but some part of him hated the idea of accepting care from strangers with a passion. For a moment, he even caught himself wondering if the man would poison and torture him in some dark prison before he shook the thought away.

Where had that come from?

A jolt ran through him as he realized that the man was watching him now, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What?"

"You're hesitating," the man said. "That's good, shows something's in that empty head of yours. I guess you're right to wonder what's got into me—hell, I'm even wondering myself." He gave a wry chuckle.

"Look, I'm grateful," the boy said. "I'd still be lying on that road if you hadn't helped me. But you're still a stranger."

There was a silence as the horses clattered along the road, dragging the cart behind them.

When the farmer spoke again, his voice had lost all traces of levity. "You're not the only one who doesn't want to get tricked—not by a long shot. So, level with me." He regarded the boy with a solemn expression for a moment, then continued. "I'm willing to help you, no strings attached, but I need to know it's all true."

Fair enough.

Mustering as much sincerity as he could, the boy said, "I'm not lying. There's really nothing I can remember."

"Nothing at all?" The man was watching him intently. "Now's the time to say it, son."

The boy paused, his mouth open. Something _had_ seeped through the wall in his mind, something impossible, but—

"So, there is something."

From his tone he knew, suddenly, that the man had expected nothing else.

He could deny it. The memory (if he could even call it that) was so unlikely that it would've sounded like a horrible lie—but the man had seen his hesitation. Any lie would lose him the man's trust, and with that his best hope.

The boy closed his eyes. Oh, this would sound crazy… "It's a palace," he said, wincing mentally. The words sounded even more ridiculous aloud.

Silence.

The man's expression was inscrutable; it wasn't obvious if he was interested or trying to remember his policies for dealing with lunatics.

"Not exactly a palace," he said frantically, trying to salvage the conversation. "I just can't think of any other way to describe it...a fortress...no…" He closed his eyes, the image seemingly floating in front of him. Out of every other murky impression, this was somehow crystal clear. "Whatever it is, it's carved into the mountainside. There are rows of windows, and I can see a shelf of rock above, and…"

Damn, even he thought he was lying.

The man was silent for a much longer period this time. " So you're trying to say," he said finally, "that you're some long-lost prince from—"

"No!" the boy yelled. "It's just an image," he added, more quietly. "I can't explain why it's so clear, but it was probably just a dream. There's nothing else that I can remember." He held the farmer's gaze this time, trying to make sure his sincerity was obvious.

The farmer stared out at the road.

Finally, he gave a gruff sigh and turned to face the boy. "When those royal courtiers show," he said a slight smile on his face, "tell them it was ol' Shigeo who fixed you up, won't you?"

* * *

She was _older_.

It had been the first thought that had struck Akame when she'd seen her old boss and it lingered even now, as the dim light of the fire cast deep shadows in the wrinkles that had appeared in the otherwise familiar face.

In the span of four years, Najenda seemed to have aged twenty.

Beside her the girl ate hungrily, blind to everything except the drumstick in front of her. It was gone in a few bites; she turned to the roasting Danger Beast and snatched another.

A laugh sounded from her left. "Pretty big appetite, wouldn't you say?" Najenda said.

Akame nodded around her own drumstick, taking another bite. Najenda, she noticed, had barely touched her own.

They sat like that in silence for several moments: Akame demolishing drumstick after drumstick, the girl demolishing just a bit less, and Najenda just sitting and watching, as if watching a riveting play. The stars twinkled overhead, and the forest was silent, for once. In those moments, Akame almost could've believed that they were on a happy camping trip.

They weren't. The moment passed.

"We should put out the fire soon," Akame said. She stood up and began to look more carefully into the woods. "I'm surprised that there haven't been any Danger Beasts sniffing around, but they'll definitely come eventually. The light will attract attention."

Najenda got to her feet as well. "You're right, though I doubt there are any who can stand up to this," she said, flexing her mechanical arm and smiling wickedly. "They won't know what hit them."

"You almost lost your head trying to sneak up on me earlier," Akame said. "How are you supposed to sneak up on a Danger Beast?"

"I let you know I was there! Besides, if that's how it's going to be—"

"Can we sleep now?" a little voice interrupted. The girl was standing sleepily, one hand rubbing her eyes as she yawned. She seemed about ready to fall over.

Najenda smiled down at her. "You go in first, Emiko," she said, gesturing at the mouth of Akame's little lean-to. She met Akame's gaze over Emiko's head and said, "I have a few things to talk about first."

The girl regarded the lean-to doubtfully before plodding inside. A faint crinkling sounded as she lay down. Then, the woods were silent again.

"There are some things I think you should know about," Najenda said more quietly, once it was relatively certain that Emiko had fallen asleep.

"Is that why you came here?"

"Partially."

Akame glanced in the direction of her lean-to. It seemed relatively quiet; the girl had probably fallen asleep already. Still, she spoke in a low murmur. "Why bring..."

"...Emiko?" Najenda gave a heavy sigh, the first hints of worry appearing on her face. "I guess I'll start with that. It's linked to the other things I came here for. You know about the village south of here?"

"It's where Emiko's from, I'm guessing."

"That's right," Najenda answered. "What else do you know about that village?"

There was a short silence before Akame spoke. "I don't know much more," she said slowly, still considering. "I do know that the village's men go on a hunting trip here every month or so, though they missed their usual date this month—"

And then she understood.

"How many survivors?" Akame asked quietly.

"One."

Some part of her had known the answer already, of course. The girl's odd mix of defiance and desperation, the heaviness underlying Najenda's cheerful behavior—it had all pointed to some hidden tragedy. It didn't matter. The answer still hit her with almost physical force.

She'd had to coexist with the village's men long enough that she'd gotten used to their presence. They had come here and hunted, joking and laughing as they brought food home for their families. Unconsciously, they'd almost become neighbors, the only sign of humanity in the forest.

Now they were dead, and their families had died right along with them.

"This isn't what we fought for," Akame said grimly. "What've you been doing?" she hissed, turning back to Najenda. "This is exactly what we fought to stop! Doesn't that matter to you anymore? As a military leader for the new kingdom, you're supposed to—"

"It matters," Najenda interrupted. "It always will. But I don't think I'll be able to do anything about it soon." She gave a sad smile. "I'd be the first to deny it, but haven't you noticed what's happening to me?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"—humor me."

Akame hesitated, then said, "You're getting older." It was a neutral answer, one that didn't come close to describing just how much Najenda had aged, but in case she was talking about something else…

Najenda sighed. "That obvious, huh?" At the expression on Akame's face, she laughed slightly. "I'm past getting offended, by the way. I know that doesn't really describe what's happened." Najenda held up her hand and inspected it, smiling wryly. "I'm getting liver spots, can you believe it?"

" _What_ happened?"

"Su's sacrifice." Suddenly she was dead serious, her face devoid of expression. "It's run out," she said. "I'm grateful to him for what he did, but I just wish that I'd had more time. Now…" She trailed off, but they both knew what she would've said next.

That silence gave time for Akame's anger to cool.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "There wasn't any reason for me to blame you—that village wasn't far from here. If I'd gone to check for any threats…"

Najenda shook her head. "If no threats appeared, you would've risked discovery for nothing. What happened was tragic, but none of us could've have predicted it," she said. "The group that raided the village simply appeared out of nowhere—they're the ones to blame. This is worse than anything they've done so far. Up to this point, they've largely carried out theft, hit-and-run attacks. We left them alone because we were sure that local forces could manage, but this…" Najenda's expression hardened. "This can't happen again."

Akame ran a finger along Murasame's hilt for several moments before speaking. "I've been gone for too long," she murmured slowly, staring at the words carved into the red wood. "Maybe it's time I did something useful again."

"I'd appreciate help," Najenda said, "but there's something I should caution you about."

"Their military strength?"

Najenda gave a sardonic chuckle. "Actually, that's the one thing I'm not worried about. I'm confident that you could eliminate most of this group without trouble. However, there's an exception. He—" She paused for a moment. When she spoke again her voice was slow, hesitant. "I've analyzed most of the group based on eyewitness accounts," she said, seemingly as much to herself as to Akame, "and most seem to be simple bandits. But there's one member. I spoke to a man who barely survived a meeting with him, and he evaluated this guy as nearly General-class."

Akame raised an eyebrow. "That skilled?"

"That man served as a military instructor for the Army, so I'd think he wasn't kidding," Najenda said. "But that's not what worries me. To be honest—" She paused again. "I'm not sure how to say this well, so I suppose I'll just say it." Najenda looked at Akame with a sheepish expression, as if apologizing in advance. Then she said:

"He seems to resemble Tatsumi exactly."

For the umpteenth time that night, silence followed.

Akame stared, struggled to control herself. "That's impossible," she said finally. "He's dead. I saw him die."

"I was there too." Najenda looked back at Akame grimly. "But this description...this skill that they say he has...who else could it be?"

She wouldn't let her hopes get up. Death was final; it was the one thing that was certain anymore. But what if Tatsumi was alive? What if—

No.

"It doesn't matter," Akame said. "Even if it's him, what he's done is unforgivable. I'll..."

 _I'll have to eliminate him._

 _End of Chapter Two_

* * *

 **Sorry for the long wait, but I tried to make up for it with the length of this chapter.**

 **Plot's picking up. Buckle up your seatbelts, and try and leave a review or two before the bus sets off!**

 **Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 3

**3**

When he opened his eyes, the boy found himself utterly lost.

He stood on a green hill, the grass waving in a gentle breeze as the sun shone. Beneath him, a vast forest expanded outwards. A river's glimmering trail snaked its way through the green, but otherwise nothing resembling a road was visible. Not a single building was in sight; the place seemed completely wild.

Wherever this was, it sure as heck wasn't near Shigeo's little farmhouse.

He looked around again, seeing nothing but trees surrounding him. Around his feet, a small cluster of stones was scattered, but they were featureless and flat. The entire scene was silent except for the sound of a slight breeze in the trees; nothing seemed to live here. As far as he could tell, he was alone.

Then he heard the footsteps.

Quickly, the boy scrambled behind a nearby bush and peeked out. The steps steadily got closer—he could see the person's shadow now, and hear the crunches of the dirt as they approached. He tensed, looking around frantically for something to defend himself with: a stick, something, even a twig. The footsteps got louder, louder, louder...and then passed without a hitch.

He let out a breath. The footsteps stopped.

The boy closed his eyes, cursing his stupidity. Any moment now, the bush hiding him would be brushed aside and he'd be discovered, possibly robbed or killed—

All he heard was silence.

Cautiously, the boy opened his eyes. The bush seemed intact; the mysterious figure's shadow had disappeared. He took a hesitant breath. No response came.

Was he alone, somehow?

A quick glance back showed nothing, no leering man in the bushes standing over him. Turning his head back, the boy slowly looked over the top of the bush, careful not to move its leaves.

For a moment, he just blinked.

 _Another_ boy stood a fair distance away, closer to the pile of stones. His back was to the bush; it seemed he hadn't noticed anything at all. His attention was on the stones themselves, as he knelt and set down two bouquets of flowers: one for each. Then he stayed at the stones, his head bent in what almost seemed like prayer.

The actions were familiar. Almost everything about this other boy was familiar. Out of nowhere a memory struck—something from the previous afternoon.

" _Do you have any idea what you look like at all?"_ Shigeo's voice jeered a second time. _"No, I guess you wouldn't...just take your hair, and oh, what the heck—your eyes. Brown and green!"_

Brown hair. The person currently kneeling near the stones had brown hair.

As an impossible idea began to form in the boy's mind, he heard something. A second set of footsteps was approaching, more rapidly than the first. Given the way things had turned out so far, he half expected the owner to be yet another brown-haired boy.

Instead, he saw a girl approaching.

Even as the boy hurriedly moved to hide again, he noticed her amazingly red eyes. Something about them both intimidated him and fascinated him to the extent that he almost couldn't tear his own eyes away, but he managed to force himself down behind the bush as he passed by.

Once again, the same feeling of familiarity that had struck him at the sight of the strange boy swept over him as the girl passed. He felt as if he could stand up and call her name, if he could just remember…

Distantly, he heard two voices begin talking. Another glance over the top of the bush showed him that the girl had joined the boy in front of the stones and was now saying something to him. The other boy still hadn't turned around, but his head shifted slightly as he turned to look at the girl more directly. He made a gesture in the direction she had come, then said something. The girl nodded and looked back briefly, those red eyes flashing again. The boy beside her turned to follow her gaze, his own eyes—

Green.

 _Could it be…?_

He didn't have time to think about it. The two were walking towards his hiding place now, and were close enough for their muffled words to become clear sentences.

"...jenda says...solo mission," the girl was saying. "She says you're ready."

"Wait, really?" That was the other boy's voice now, tinged slightly with panic.

Involuntarily, despite the fact that he was supposed to be hiding, the boy let out a gasp. He _knew_ that voice; heck, he'd heard it enough times last afternoon. It was his own. And if that was true...

Somehow, he was looking at himself.

He let out another breath at this realization. The pair were almost in front of his hiding place now, but then again, it no longer seemed necessary to hide. After all, what was there to fear from himself? The girl next to this version of himself seemed friendly enough too; she was still talking avidly.

"You'll be fine, Tatsumi. Everyone has to do it at some point. Besides—"

A hand slapped itself against his cheek.

The boy gave a yell of surprise and leaped straight out of the bushes, rolling to land in front of them. He looked around wildly for the slap's source, catching a glimpse of the same mountains, shadowed tree trunks, the empty green hill—

Empty green hill?

Climbing shakily to his feet, the boy looked around. The pair had disappeared; the grass waved gently where they had been walking a moment before. There was no sign that anyone had ever been there.

The hand slapped itself against his cheek again. This time he heard speech accompany the slap, some sort of mumbled command. The boy blinked. This time, he opened his eyes to see a very familiar figure in a very familiar place.

Shigeo was bending over him with a raised eyebrow and an annoyed face. "Time to wake up," he said. "Heaven knows you've been lounging in my barn for long enough."

The boy gave a groan and rolled over. "Just a little more time," he mumbled, his thoughts already going back to the faraway green hill. "It's okay if I miss breakfast."

"You want to miss lunch too?"

He burst upright and stared at Shigeo. " _Lunch?_ "

"That's right. Didn't think you'd been sleeping that long, did you?" The old man straightened up and headed for the stairs. "Get up while it's hot," he called back into the room, and then he was gone, the steps creaking under his weight as he went downstairs. Undoubtedly he expected the boy to follow after him soon.

Instead, the boy sat up slowly and looked around the room for a mirror.

He found a dusty one in the corner of the room, half-hidden behind an old wooden cabinet. The mirror seemed even older; a large crack weaved along its bottom left edge and patches of grime as big as his hand were scattered across it. Not particularly pleasant or easy to see in, but still the boy looked.

His face—identical to that of the other, nameless boy in his dream—looked back. There was no mistaking it.

With a slow breath, the boy fell back on his hands, his head spinning with the ramifications of his discovery.

Since he had woken up on the road the past afternoon, the boy had never gotten a chance to look at his face. He was tired, hungry, and completely lost; a simple detail like his reflection seemed to be irrelevant. With the hole in his memories, he wouldn't have recognized his own face anyway. Now, having woken up from the dream, it seemed some part of him did. Could it be that the dream hadn't been just a dream—that somehow, he had dredged up a memory while he slept?

 _You'll be fine, Tatsumi_ , the girl had said, instants before Shigeo had shaken him awake. If he could really accept the dream's events as fact, then logically, by extension, he could also say that his name was Tatsumi.

Tatsumi.

He looked back to the mirror, mentally testing out the name. _Hey there, Tatsumi. How's it going, Tatsumi?_ The face that looked back at him only seemed confused and slightly embarrassed.

The name didn't sound _too_ strange, he supposed. He could go with it for now. If it was wrong and he was never found—well, he could always just adopt the name.

 _Tatsumi._

He shook his head and stood up, heading towards the door. Right on cue (or maybe just because he'd heard the creak of the floorboards upstairs) Shigeo shouted from downstairs: something about getting up faster and eating. The boy hollered a quick "Coming!" in response, and quickened his pace. Just as he reached the door frame, a thought came to him that stopped him in his tracks.

If he'd somehow remembered a scene from his past, then who was the girl?

* * *

After the seventh hour of waiting, even Akame was getting impatient.

Akame had hidden along the road around noon, fully expecting a passing cart to sneak aboard in less than two hours. The road was freshly scored with tracks that had evidently been left in the morning, and seemingly from more than one cart. Yet here she was hours later—bored, cramped, and sleepy—with no sign of any drivers approaching.

She cast another glance down the road: no luck. It was as empty and untravelled as ever.

Akame shifted her position again, making sure that she wouldn't be visible from the road. Soon, she wouldn't even have to worry about that; it was getting darker and darker. At this time of day, it was unlikely that any new travellers would risk going through the forest. It was looking increasingly likely that she would have to scrape together a shelter from the twigs and leaves around her and then bed down for the night.

 _Joy._

For a while, Akame tried distracting herself for a bit—making sure her traveling supplies were adequate, that she had enough rations. Then she stared at the ground again, listening intently for any sound at all. Still, all she heard was a faint rustling as the wind picked up its pace.

With nothing else to focus on, her mind flashed back (again) to the conversation that she'd had earlier with Najenda. Their last conversation.

For something so significant, it had started out rather uneventfully. Both of them knew that whatever they said would be the final things that they would remember of each other. Neither had been particularly eager to speak first, so they'd just sat and eaten their breakfast in silence. Even Emiko had been quiet, barely saying more than the occasional request for more breakfast.

Of course, eventually they'd gotten to talking. Akame hadn't even asked where she would be going before Najenda had slapped a collection of maps and papers in front of her and began talking. With that, the briefing for Night Raid's last mission began.

Apparently the group that had destroyed Emiko's village didn't have a single base, instead choosing regions to focus on. Sightings of the group's members would then be reported in towns across the region, suggesting that the group first sent out one-person parties to "scout" a town and its defenses, then regrouped at a given point and decided on a specific town to target together.

Most recently, several of the group's members had been sighted in a region near the western end of the Empire. Out of the towns where sightings had been reported, the closest to Akame's forest was a town called Umeura. This was where Akame was going. "The town's been called Godo-cho for a pretty long time—according to the registry, they only changed their name last year," Najenda had told her, "so make sure to ask for both names."

Still, getting anywhere near Umeura would take a long time.

"Closest" was only a relative term. The town was far away, very far. Considering that it had been the mysterious 'general-class boy' who had been sighted in the town, Akame couldn't afford to waste her strength going to Umeura on foot. She would have to find some transportation, most likely a horse-drawn cart.

Because she had assumed responsibility for nearly all of the Revolutionary Army's crimes, she couldn't openly obtain one; she would have to rent her own in disguise. However, any town she rented from would have to be fairly large, as a mysterious person walking in and renting a cart would attract unwanted attention unless she was one of many renters. Of course, the nearest such town was also over a day's walk from the forest. It would be more efficient to hitch a ride on one of the carts that travelled along a road that led to the town.

All fairly regular information.

The mission briefings during Night Raid's prime had usually been in even more detail, but knowledge about this group was minimal. "At the moment that was all they were known as: "the group." No other label existed. Even so, nothing there had been unusual; some groups simply didn't care for things as trivial as a name. It was what had come after that kept Akame's mind stuck there, even miles away from the place and after hours of waiting.

At the end of it all, they'd simply wished each other good luck. Then the pair had turned away, Akame alone, Najenda with Emiko. It hadn't been very eloquent or heartwarming, but that wasn't what either of them had wanted. As far as goodbyes went, theirs had been perfectly satisfactory.

Then Najenda had turned, and said one last thing.

"Oh, by the way, Akame...if it somehow is Tatsumi—"

What Akame had expected was a grim reminder that he would have to face justice regardless, or a warning to be careful, or really anything else—anything but what actually came out of Najenda's mouth.

"—I'm rooting for you two."

Najenda had walked away then, quietly saying something to Emiko as she led her away, but Akame had remained frozen in her tracks.

She was still frozen there mentally, even now. At every idle moment (and there had been a lot of those during her seven hour wait), her mind would slip back to the comment. Her monotonous surroundings weren't helping things much, but something told her that she would've been distracted no matter what happened.

By itself, the remark was nothing special. Most likely it was just an encouraging remark, an attempt at being upbeat or optimistic. But even if it was implying what Akame thought it was, it still wasn't anything special. Najenda had possessed a hidden love for teasing everyone in Night Raid. Lubbock would always get an earful when it came to his headphones, "Princess" Mine had been mocked for her choice in clothes, and even Bulat had gotten the occasional crack about his "egg roll" hair. It had never happened often, but somehow no one was surprised when it did. Next to all that, this was nothing.

No, Najenda hadn't meant anything by the comment. Akame knew that she was overanalyzing this. She knew exactly why, too, even if she refused to think about it. Ever since the possibility had arisen—as slight as it was—that Tatsumi was alive, her thoughts had started rushing in one direction. Najenda's remark had really only highlighted just how big the problem was, because of course it was a problem.

She couldn't approach a dangerous killer with this kind of mindset. It wouldn't be good to have delusions about him being a long-dead friend, or to think of the idea with—well— _other_ feelings. It was distracting her, and not in a good way. _But still_ , some corner of her mind whispered, _if—_

At that moment, Akame realized that she was no longer alone.

A series of squeaking and groaning had slowly been getting louder, belonging, she realized, to the wheels of a cart. The sounds only got closer. She hadn't even heard them until now, when they were only a couple dozen feet away. _You're slipping,_ she told herself furiously, and then she flattened herself into the thicket, made sure her traveling pack was nearby, and focused on the approaching cart.

The thing had lanterns attached to both ends, with a haphazard mess of metal wire and string. They were hardly enough to highlight her presence, but the long shadows cast by their dim orange glow would make it obvious to the driver that an intruder was moving near the cart. While this probably wouldn't be a bad thing—there was only one person driving—she wanted to avoid killing anyone, at least for today.

This would be the last cart. There would only be one shot at this.

With another set of squeaks and groans, the cart was in front of her. A few seconds later it had creaked past. As soon as she was certain that the driver wouldn't be able to see anything, Akame hurried out of the leaves. The cart approached a hole in the road; it jarred violently as it passed over. At the same instant Akame leapt and landed on the back of the cart. No cries of surprise sounded; the cart righted itself and rolled on without stopping.

Akame perched herself on the back of the cart, and then waited for the cart to reach its destination.

She was one step closer to Umeura.

* * *

A steaming bowl of rice and vegetables was waiting for Tatsumi when he finally got downstairs. Neither Shigeo or his wife were in sight, though they were probably outside. The door of the house was hanging open, letting in sunlight and a faint breeze.

Tatsumi sat down at the table anyways, and began to eat. As he spooned the first clump of food into his mouth, he began to consider what to tell Shigeo when he saw him again.

Would it be a good idea to tell him about his new name? Most likely the man would dismiss the idea of a dream "memory" as complete nonsense. Still, even if he was a bit hesitant about taking the dream as reality, the name would be a great alternative to "buddy" or "kid". There wasn't any reason why Shigeo would react negatively as long as Tatsumi didn't mention a mysterious dream.

 _Tatsumi._ It would take him a while to get used to the name, especially since there was no guarantee that it really belonged to him.

A pair of footsteps sounded near the door. "You done with your lunch yet?" Shigeo's voice asked.

Tatsumi shovelled the rest of the bowl's contents into his mouth, then stood up. "Yerp," he said, chewing quickly.

Shigeo eyed him for a moment. "A 'no' would've been fine too," he said, then shook his head. "Anyways, since you're done, get over here. You're going into town with me today."

"I thought you said no one would recognize me there."

"Well, it's better than wasting time lolling around in my bedroom, isn't it? Besides, there's something that I've thought of." Shigeo jerked a thumb towards the door. "Now come on. You're gonna help me attach the cart to the horses."

A short while later the cart was rattling down the road away from Shigeo's farm. Looking back, Tatsumi could distantly see a figure waving goodbye: probably Shigeo's wife. He gave a short wave in response, then turned back to face the road.

Someone had known him like that too; Tatsumi was sure of it. He stared at the ground, watching the stones beneath pass by. Where were they now? Could they be looking for him? Or had they been the person who had left him on a country road in the middle of nowhere?

"Hey." Shigeo gave him a little nudge. "Don't look so glum—who knows? I'll bet someone out there's looking for you too."

Tatsumi sighed. "Maybe."

Still, the old guy was right. Moping and longing for some faceless past wouldn't bring him any closer to rediscovering it. Besides, there was still some hope. He wasn't completely blank; some fragments of memory still existed, like that mysterious stone building, and—

He jolted upright in his seat. "My name," he whispered to himself.

"Eh?"

"My name," Tatsumi said again. He turned to face Shigeo. "I think I've remembered my name."

"Really?" A wrinkled smile appeared on Shigeo's face. "There you go! Only one day, and you're already remembering. Well, don't keep this old man waiting. What is it? Haruto? Ryo? Oba—"

"Tatsumi."

He had expected some more expressions of joy from the old farmer, or some teasing about the quality of the name. What he hadn't expected was for Shigeo's face to turn blank with astonishment, followed by a set of narrowed eyes.

"Really." Shigeo's voice was flat.

"What's wrong?" Tatsumi was sure that his complete confusion was present on his face. It was a good thing that he'd remembered his name, wasn't it? The man's expression had said so a moment before—though now it seemed to give a very different message.

Shigeo blinked. The smile reappeared, though something about his face still seemed...off. "It's nothing," he said. "Just..." He blinked again and shook his head. "No, that's great. Anything else you've remembered?"

Tatsumi opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Would it be a good idea to tell him about anything else? Just telling Shigeo his name had already seemed to disturb the man greatly. Tatsumi had been hesitant to tell him about the dream and the red-eyed girl in it, but now it seemed downright unwise to mention either.

"No," he said. "Nothing."

Shigeo looked at him for a few moments before finally muttering an "Alright" and shaking his head again, then turning his head back to the road.

For a while they just sat in silence, aside from Shigeo's occasional commands to the horses. Conversation with Shigeo wasn't a very attractive option to Tatsumi at the moment, so he looked at the landscape that they were passing instead.

Mostly, they passed by small groves of trees or thickets. Every so often the cart would pass near a fellow farmer's field, and Tatsumi would see small figures bent over in the fields. Still, the cart rattled on, and after what felt like an endless cycle of the same sights, Tatsumi's mind began to wander towards other things.

That girl, for instance.

If Shigeo had known that she'd been in his dream—or memory, whatever the heck it was—Tatsumi had no doubt that some crack about "young guys and their hormones" would have followed. As it was, he had trouble believing that his mind hadn't just made her up. Everything about the girl seemed unreal. Sure, her choice of dress was odd (Tatsumi was pretty sure that most people didn't wear sleeveless minidresses _and_ ties), but it had been the girl herself, not her clothes.

Even from the little he had seen of her, he had already sensed a fearless ease that was present in her step and her speech. She'd seemed incredibly aware of her surroundings, down to the smallest details. That she'd passed by his hiding spot seemed more a choice on her part than really any matter of skill on his.

And, of course—even if Tatsumi really didn't want to admit it to himself—she'd been unbelievably pretty, with eyes that almost seemed to glow. Really, she was beginning to sound more like a character from a folktale that parents told their children to get them in bed. In fact...

"We're almost there."

Shigeo was pointing at something in the distance. Tatsumi followed his finger to see a distant clump of houses and buildings.

"That's the town you're taking me to?"

"Yep." The man had a slight smile on his face. "That right there's Godo-cho—hey! What're you smirking about?" he said, glaring at Tatsumi.

"Godo-cho?" Tatsumi felt the smirk on his face widen even more, but he didn't bother to hide it. "What kind of a name is that?"

Shigeo gave an indignant sniff. "Well, here I was thinking you had good taste. You even complimented Matome's soup last night—"

"That was _food!_ "

"Godo-cho's a perfectly good name," Shigeo said. "You'll see that everyone in town agrees with me. Just a bit further now…"

At this distance, Tatsumi could see individual signs and houses. _AUTHENTIC DANGER BEAST MEAT,_ one sign proclaimed. _HIBIKI AND SONS: GODO-CHO'S FAVORITE SWORDSMITHS_ , said another. The town certainly seemed lively enough; as the cart drew even closer, Tatsumi could see what looked like a crowd of people gathered around a small stand near the town's main gate. He could even smell something roasting nearby—presumably the "authentic Danger Beast meat".

"Nice, isn't it?"

Before Tatsumi could answer a shout came from the crowd, and soon a whole array of faces was looking in their direction. One man came running over with something in his hand—a sheet of paper, Tatsumi realized—and stopped next to Shigeo.

"Hey," the man said, thrusting the sheet of paper at Shigeo's face. "You want to sign this?"

In answer, Shigeo swatted the piece of paper out of the man's hand. "Get that out of my face," he growled. "I've got serious business today and you already know how I feel about your little petition!"

"But—"

"No buts!" Shigeo cracked his whip at the horses. "Godo-cho's staying Godo-cho as long as I've got something to say about it!" he yelled over his shoulder, as the cart rattled away from the staring man. "Jeez." He turned back in his seat and shot a dour look at Tatsumi. "Not a single person with any taste, I swear…"

"What was that, anyways?" Tatsumi took a quick glance back; the crowd of people seemed to have clustered around the stand again. A few faces were still looking in the direction of the cart.

Shigeo muttered something under his breath.

"What?"

"...I said, some folks want to change Godo-cho's name to—Oomoora or something, who knows—"

"Just _some_ , huh." Privately, Tatsumi thought that it seemed that the entire town was clustered around the little wooden stand, though he wasn't about to risk mentioning it. Besides, the name change and the town weren't his problem. He was here to find out more about his past. Speaking of which…

"Where exactly are you taking me?" Tatsumi asked.

"—I mean, honestly...what kind of a name is—oh. Right." Shigeo paused, then pointed down the street in the direction of a small wooden building. Something was written on a set of boards posted above it, but so much dirt and grime was caked over it that the makeshift sign was unreadable. "We're going there," he said. "The guy in there used to be the tax collector here for the Capital, but after the Revolution...well." He cast a sideways look at Tatsumi. "He's been a bit down on his luck."

 _After the Revolution…_

Something about the word pulled at Tatsumi mentally, but he shook it off. "And you think this man can help me?" he asked aloud. Questions about this "Revolution" could come later, after he had found out more about himself.

"I don't know if he can help you, exactly," Shigeo said, "but he's your best shot around here. He used to have a whole book of records on everyone within ten miles of this place, so I'm hoping we'll find _something_. Besides"—Shigeo gave a small smile—"we won't know unless we try, eh?"

* * *

The midnight hours in Jikamori were always the slowest.

With a short sigh, the clerk leaned back in his chair and dug at his fingernails, staring absently at the doorway. Of course, there was nothing to see outside. There never was.

Besides, who would want to rent a cart at this hour? Almost the entire town was dark by now. The only light in the town wafted from a nearby bar, along with faint sounds of laughter and jeering. Most likely nobody would even notice if he went for a quick drink and chat at the place.

Still, the clerk remained in his worn old chair. He wasn't about to lose this job now, not when he'd worked so hard to get hired. There was still a chance that someone would notice, or that one of the bar's other members would chat about his unauthorized visit to the wrong people.

But God, this was _so_ boring!

A faint sound came to his ears, something that resembled a faint clattering. Maybe one of the patrons in the bar had done something stupid, getting applause from the others. Maybe someone had dropped a bottle somewhere. Maybe. It didn't matter; he was stuck here.

The clattering got louder. It was several seconds before he realized that the sound was, in fact, the clattering of cart wheels on the cobblestones. The clerk looked up just in time to see an odd-looking thing with lanterns attached to both its front and back totter past the doorway.

When it had fully passed, there was a cloaked figure standing in what had only been an empty doorway moments before. For a moment its hood shifted up slightly, and the clerk caught the glint of red, red eyes.

He swallowed loudly and put on a wobbly smile.

"Iwa..Iwataka Cart Rental Services. How may I help you?"

* * *

 **Sorry for the wait, as usual...**

 **I've tried to keep the production time for each chapter down to about one month per release, but I'm afraid that that time will have to go up to two or even three months since courses have started for me.**

 **As always, thank you all for the wonderful favorites, follows, and reviews. They motivate me to sit down at the end of a long day and get these chapters out!**

 **(Plot's about to start, I swear.)**


	5. Chapter 4

**4**

Tatsumi had already leaped out of the cart in the direction of the old building, all smiles and eager anticipation, when Shigeo said, "I think you should stay here."

"What?" Tatsumi swiveled around to face Shigeo. "Why?"

"Because," Shigeo said, climbing slowly down the cart's side, "I've gotta talk to the guy in there about a few things first." With a final grunt, he reached the ground. "Don't worry. It's just some stuff I have to clear up first."

He gave a smile after this, but Tatsumi could still see a slight hint of fear in the expression. Outwardly, of course, he didn't mention this. "Alright," he said. "I'll stay."

"Thanks." Shigeo turned and opened the door of the building, and entered. The door closed with a quiet click.

For about twenty seconds, Tatsumi really did stay with the cart, digging his toe in the dirt idly. Then he gave in to his curiosity and walked to the door.

As he approached the building's porch, he stopped for a moment and considered its warped floorboards. They looked very, very creaky—now that he thought about it, he'd been able to hear Shigeo's footsteps on the boards all the way from the cart. If he stepped on those boards, chances were that anyone inside would immediately know he was there. He hesitated. At this distance, faint rumblings of conversation could already be heard. If he wanted to hear anything useful, he would have to hurry.

What now?

Tatsumi stood there for a few more seconds, regarding the porch and imagining scenarios where Shigeo burst out of the building and yelled at him for eavesdropping. Then, the action happening almost by instinct, he set his foot on the wood and began to creep towards the door.

Later, when he had gotten more time to think about his memories, he would wonder where he'd gotten the ability to walk so silently. But at the moment, creeping across the porch, all Tatsumi could feel was a mingled sense of satisfaction and self-satisfied awe as his feet moved soundlessly across the floorboards. Soon he was crouched next to the door, listening.

"…so, that'll be fifty for the wheat and flour," Shigeo's voice was saying. There was a muffled rustling and a clunk, as if several things had been set on a table.

"Hold on!" another voice said. It was thin, almost warbling; Tatsumi assumed it belonged to the tax collector.

A loud sigh sounded. "Can't haggle with you today," Shigeo said. "Fifty for the goods—take it or leave it."

Even through the door, Tatsumi could hear the unmistakable tinge of annoyance in Shigeo's tone. Evidently the tax collector heard it too, because the next thing Tatsumi heard was a grudging "Fine" from the thin voice. Next followed the unmistakable clack of coins being set down. "Nice doing business," the tax collector said, his tone very clearly expressing exactly what he'd thought of said business.

"Sure."

Had he really snuck over here for this kind of conversation? The risk of discovery hardly seemed worth it for _this_. Tatsumi flicked a quick glance at the cart, which was still resting in the middle of the road. If he was quiet, he could go back—

Behind him, Shigeo spoke again, and suddenly all thoughts of returning to the cart disappeared.

"There's something else I came here for," the old man said, his voice suddenly muffled. Tatsumi had to strain to hear the words. "It's… …kid. I…"

"Speak up!" the tax collector said. "My ears aren't how they used to be."

A short, hesitant silence broke the conservation before Shigeo resumed talking. "It's about a kid that I found on the side of the road yesterday." His voice was louder now, but still noticeably quieter than it had been before.

Tatsumi pressed himself even closer to the door, his eagerness to hear overriding his sense of caution. A kid on the side of the road—there was no doubt who they were talking about.

There was a creak as the collector leaned forward in his chair. "And?"

"The kid had no memory, Inagaki." When no reply came, Shigeo said, "He couldn't even remember what his own face looked like! Now…"

"I'm assuming you want me to use my records to help him."

"Yeah."

"Well"—Tatsumi could almost see the smug smile on the tax collector's face—"you know I won't be able to do that without some…donations."

"Isn't the food enough?" Shigeo grumbled. "I'm asking you to flip through some books, not dance a tango through the street."

"Health hazards. I could get sick. Just look at all that dust!"

"I'll show you a health hazard, you little…"

"Do you want the information or not?"

There was a short silence (which Tatsumi suspected was actually filled with some inaudible muttering on Shigeo's part) before Shigeo finally relented. "Fine. Twenty."

"Thirty-five."

"Whatever," Shigeo said. "Just do it."

There was a noisy creak as the collector got up from his chair, followed by some dull thuds and rustling. After another series of grunting and exclamations, Tatsumi heard the clunk of books being set down. "Have you considered," the tax collector said, as he flipped through one of the books, "what to do if I don't find anything in here?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"Of course you are. Now, do you have any description at all to give me so that this isn't a complete waste of time?"

Shigeo hesitated. "Well," he said finally, "he has brown hair. Green eyes."

"Brown hair," the tax collector said, flipping through the pages with the regularity of a machine, "suggests"—flip—"lineage from the West"—flip—"but nowhere near here. And green eyes…"

The flipping stopped.

"Found something?"

It was Shigeo who asked the question, but Tatsumi almost burst through the door to ask it himself. As it was, he had to suppress a shout of glee. Would this give him the information he needed? A fresh wave of anticipation swept through him, along with hope—

"I know what you're trying to do here," the tax collector said.

No reply came for a moment. Then, incredulously, Shigeo said, "What the _heck_ are you talking about?"

A harsh laugh from the collector. "You think I can't see it? You tell me that you find a strange, mysterious boy in the middle of nowhere with brown hair and green eyes, come here asking about it, and then expect me to…to…"

"You're jumping to conclusions."

"Oh, I'm sure you want me to think that!" The tax collector sounded nearly hysterical now, his voice little more than a screech. "I don't suppose you found out that his name was Tatsumi, and that—"

"No," Shigeo interrupted. "He never said that. Stop overreacting."

What?

Tatsumi involuntarily let out a cry of anger and shock at this, but neither Shigeo or the tax collector seemed to notice.

"I don't know what you think I'm doing, but whatever it is, here's what actually happening," Shigeo continued, growling out the words. "I'm trying to help an innocent kid get back to his family. Now stop yammering and _help_."

"Are you sure you're really trying to help him?"

In a single motion, Shigeo and the tax collector turned to face the now-open doorway, their faces stretched with surprise.

Tatsumi moved further into the room as he spoke the last words of the question. His eyes were fixed on Shigeo. "I heard what you said," he said. "I heard all of it."

* * *

He took the first sword out of the crate and inspected it, noting the edge of its blade and bending it gently. Then the man resheathed the weapon and threw it back into the box.

"Good quality, aren't they?"

"They'll have to do," he murmured without looking up, still focused on the swords. _One..._ "What about the other items I asked you to obtain?"

 _Two...three...four...five…_

A quiet rustle of cloth. "Right here, boss. Packed nicely in a bag for you."

 _...eight...nine...ten...eleven—_

The Leader stopped counting. Mentally, he sorted through the list of his recruits, trying to put a name to the nervous face in front of him. "Well done…Jurou."

"Thanks, boss." Jurou looked towards the door quickly, then turned back to the Leader. "Can I—?"

"I wasn't finished," the Leader said. With some amusement, he watched the expression on Jurou's face shift back to one of fear. "You've made a mistake."

"Well—I don't see—I got the swords and the turbans…"

With one hand, the Leader tipped the box towards the man, letting the contents show. "How many swords do you think are here?"

"Maybe about fifteen," the man stammered. "But—"

"How many recruits do you think we have?"

"About…" Jurou trailed off, his eyes widening slightly as the realization hit. "…forty. Fifty."

The Leader let his hand drift slowly to the sword at his side as he said, "And what do you think happens when you try and split fifteen swords among fifty recruits?" His fingers began to drum on the sword's hilt.

The man's eyes snapped to the Leader's hand, and he swallowed audibly. "I…" he croaked.

The Leader took a single step forward. "Take your time," he said. "I understand if the problem is too difficult to solve." His fingers closed more decisively on the sword's handle; a quiet rasp of metal sounded as he slowly drew it out of the sheath. He took another step towards Jurou. "If this organization is going to be successful," the Leader said, "we're going to need weapons, yes. But we're also going to need…"—he drew the sword fully—"...competence."

"Boss—sir—please…" Jurou was practically on his hands and knees now. "It was a mistake, just one mistake…"

The Leader let the man grovel on the ground for another few seconds before suddenly sheathing his sword. "I'm not going to kill you here," he said. "At the very least, you'll serve nicely as bait if one of our raids goes wrong."

Jurou gave a wordless cry of relief and stood up again, almost tripping over himself in his eagerness to leave the room.

"Ah, one more thing," the Leader said, just as Jurou reached the threshold of the door.

It almost seemed as if Jurou would simply abandon orders and make a run for it, but then slowly, reluctantly, he turned around to face the Leader once again.

"Catch."

With a grunt of surprise, Jurou just barely caught the box of swords that he had brought. Inside rested a dark cloth bag—the masks. "What's this for? You want me to get a refund or something?"

"Oh, quite the opposite," the Leader said. "I want you to reap the fruit of your labors." He smiled a wolf's smile at Jurou. "That's what they value in your culture, isn't it?" At the look of confusion on Jurou's face, he sighed. "I hope your fellows aren't as dull."

"I…I don't…"

"Should I say it more clearly? I want you to execute a raid."

* * *

The tax collector was still looking at him. "But—but that's—you're—"

"Why wouldn't you tell him?" Tatsumi asked, still staring down Shigeo. "I told you that I'd remembered my name while we were coming here. You heard me say it was Tatsumi. Back then you acted like I'd told you that I was a ghost. I ignored it—I thought it didn't mean anything—but now, when you're with the only guy who can help me, you lie about what I've told you? Why did you even bring me here if you were just going to do this?"

"You don't get it." All through Tatsumi's rant, Shigeo had been staring at the ground, his face showing no reaction to Tatsumi's words. Now he looked back at Tatsumi and met his gaze, and said, "I didn't know if I believed you before, when you were acting like you didn't have any idea what the name meant. But now I'm sure you don't. You wear that heart of yours on your sleeve…Tatsumi."

"What's that got to do with—"

"You!" a high, warbling voice interrupted. "I know you!" Tatsumi turned to see the tax collector's thin, trembling finger pointed at him.

"Then tell me. Tell me who I am," Tatsumi said, trying his best to ignore the crazed expression on the tax collector's face. "Please."

Shigeo reached out and grasped the tax collector's arm. "Inagaki, wait—"

"Don't touch me!" Like a spooked animal, the tax collector tore himself free of Shigeo's grip and sprang backwards across the room, wild-eyed. "I know what you're doing," he panted.

His gaze flicked from Shigeo to Tatsumi, and then back to Shigeo. "Tired of sending me food?" he said. "Was I becoming a burden? Still, I didn't think that you'd sink this low…"

"This isn't what it looks like!" Shigeo roared. "Won't you get it into your head that no one here is trying to harm you?"

Tatsumi had watched this exchange in silence. Nothing had seemed right to say—any comment only seemed as if it would upset the situation further—but now he grasped at the chance to say the only remark that looked logical. "We're not trying to do anything here," Tatsumi said, moving slowly towards the collector. "All we need...all I need...is some information." He held his hands so that the palms faced the man, and advanced slowly.

For the moment, this remark seemed to have had some effect. The tax collector merely watched his surroundings warily, his eyes following Tatsumi's hands.

"Now," Tatsumi said slowly, trying his best to keep his tone warm and reassuring, "I just want to ask. What do you know about me?"

Wordlessly, with a slow hesitant motion, the tax collector reached towards a stack of papers behind him.

"No."

The voice was Shigeo's, and Tatsumi turned to look at the old farmer. "What do you mean, 'No'?" he demanded. "You brought me this far, didn't you? I'm ready to find out who I am."

"There's nothing there you want to see," Shigeo said, looking at the stack of papers as if he wanted to incinerate it with his eyes. "I was an idiot, bringing you here. I see that now."

Oh, enough of this.

Tatsumi turned back to the tax collector. "Show me."

He fixed his gaze on the quivering man, who was nervously glancing from Tatsumi to Shigeo. The collector seemed cowed by what he saw; the indecision on his face was obvious. Tatsumi guessed that Shigeo wore an angry expression that rivaled his own.

No one seemed inclined to move.

Then, with a wail and a garbled apology in Shigeo's direction, the collector flung the papers at Tatsumi and ran out of the room, his steps thudding hard on the ground. The papers fluttered down slowly in his wake, some coming to rest near Tatsumi's feet with a soft rustle.

Tatsumi looked at the scattered sheets on the floor and bent, slowly, to pick them up.

Dimly, his ears registered a shout from Shigeo. He shoved the words from his mind; bent further to pick up the sheets. Nothing Shigeo said held any interest for him now. His fingers reached the edge of the first sheet.

When he flipped it over, a very familiar face confronted him.

And yet, he couldn't put a name to it. The same feeling that had nagged at him during his dream nagged at him now. His eyes studied the paper carefully.

It seemed that the artist had deliberately exaggerated the face—Tatsumi couldn't find any other explanation for the fact that the picture of the woman adorning the top of the page radiated such an aura of malevolence that he found himself jerking back from the paper instinctively. The eyes were mere slits; as inhuman as a devil's, and the giant set of scissors that the woman carried dripped with blood. Even the innocuous purple dress that the woman wore had a reddish tinge to it.

 _SHEELE_ , the paper read. _WANTED. DEAD OR ALIVE_. Some smaller writing lingered beneath the large headline; probably something detailing this "Sheele's" crimes.

Was this what the collector had called the key to Tatsumi's identity? A couple of ghoulish drawings? Despite the fact that he had apparently reached a dead end again, the corners of Tatsumi's mouth jerked up in a wry smile. Perhaps this was the reason Shigeo had wanted to keep him from reading these papers.

He skimmed the rest of the writing quickly. A certain "Night Raid" was mentioned several times, along with more counts of murder than he could count, but nothing seemed to mention him.

He set the paper down and glanced at the sheet beneath it, seeing a similar set of details. Another ghoulish picture adorned the top half of the page, this time of a man with a ludicrously egg-roll-like hairdo gazing up at him. The next sheet—or poster, he now realized—depicted a young man with green hair and green eyes; blood dripped from his fingers. Tatsumi began to sort through the sheets more quickly now, impatience and a steadily growing feeling of disappointment rising up in his throat.

A young girl in a pink dress. A much older woman, maybe thirty, with striking purple eyes and white hair. All were associated with blood and horrible crimes, but none seemed to be related to him. Were these individuals even real? All of their characteristics seemed comically exaggerated, as if they had been plucked out of some graphic story. He nearly threw the paper he was looking at onto the floor, tempted to send the entire pile down with it out of frustration. Then his eyes looked at the next sheet.

A nearly identical pair of eyes looked back.

Nearly identical, but not exactly. When he had looked into Shigeo's old mirror in the morning, he had seen only a confused and anxious boy looking back. The person gazing up at him from the paper was a remorseless destroyer, someone who knew all the ways to kill a man and preferred the most agonizing and tortuous out of them. One of this person's eyes was marred, slightly; a strange red-and-black insignia, almost like a cross, masked the bright green of the iris beneath. A sword dripping with freshly spilled blood rested in the person's grip.

 _TATSUMI. WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE._

The remaining papers fell from his fingers.

"What did I tell you?"

Shigeo's voice was resigned; he walked over to Tatsumi and gently took the paper out of his hands. Tatsumi didn't react to the loss of this first, most conclusive clue—he simply sat and stared, still looking at the space where his own face, possessed by some unknown demon, had stared back. There was a crinkle of paper from behind Tatsumi as Shigeo balled up the paper, then a slight whoosh of air as he tossed it away.

"I get that you want to figure out where you came from," Shigeo said. "I get it. Really do. But…" He trailed off for a moment, then spoke again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here. It was stupid of me, and—"

"How much did you know?"

"About what?"

"About that." Tatsumi jerked his head brusquely in the direction of the crumpled paper, then looked back at Shigeo. "About me." The list that he had seen under his snarling, murderous face was still fresh in his mind.

 _Responsible for the brutal murder of a noble general. Caused the deaths of several hundred soldiers. Suspected in the killings of several innocent families._

All this time, he had wondered whether or not he had left monsters in his past. He had never suspected that he himself had been one of them.

He thought back to the brief flash of fear that had flitted across Shigeo's face during their trip to this place. He thought of the tax collector's terrified expression, desperate—one of someone looking to bargain for their life. He thought of the shock and dread that had struck him when he had first seen the face on the poster.

What did Shigeo see now, looking at him? What had he always seen? Looking at Shigeo's face now, Tatsumi thought he could see pity, and even—possibly—loathing.

That made sense, at least. He loathed this Tatsumi too, this killer of men and innocent families. Shigeo was opening his mouth to speak. Tatsumi readied himself for a scathing string of insults.

"That isn't you," Shigeo said.

What?

"How could you say that?" To Tatsumi, this statement seemed a crueler thing than anything he had heard in the past few hours. "That's my face _,_ " he said. "My name _." And my murders._

There was no mistaking the pity in Shigeo's voice now. "It's not you. It can't be you. This is why I told you not to look, goddammit—"

" _Why_ can't _it be me?_ " He didn't bother to restrain his temper this time. "Just tell me for once! I'm tired of all this—just tell me."

"It can't be you," Shigeo said quietly, "because Tatsumi died. Five years ago." He smiled wryly. "I don't know who you are, kid, but you sure don't look like a zombie to me."

Tatsumi barely heard.

"Dead?" _Not just dead_ , a voice reminded him. _Dead for five years._ By now, the body would just be a set of bones, indistinguishable from any other. The thought made him shake, not just with disgust but also with some unidentifiable emotion. "Then how…why…"

Shigeo sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You want to know my big secret?" he said. "I'm just a farmer. An old one. Two days ago the only things on my mind were hopes that my crop would make it through this dry spell and that my back wouldn't give out on me the next day. Now I have to help a boy that can't remember his own face. What's more, he just happens to look like one of the most notorious dead assassins out there." He paused, a sardonic smile deepening the wrinkles in his face. "I'm just as lost as you are, kid. Even more lost. But I'll tell you one thing.

"That person…"—he pointed at the poster lying crumpled a few feet away—"…killed innocent families and soldiers for a living. You are not that person," Shigeo said. "I've only known you for a day and a half, you've already shown that you know what's right and you're sure as heck not afraid to stand up for it. If you ever hurt anyone, they deserved it. He frowned slightly. "Though eavesdropping is pushing it, okay?"

"How can you be sure?" Tatsumi said suddenly.

There was a look of bewilderment from Shigeo. "About what? That eavesdropping's pushing it?" He raised an eyebrow and muttered, "Maybe I wasn't so right about that sense of right and wrong after all…"

"Not that." Tatsumi could feel his voice shaking; every part of him seemed to be drawn taut. "How can you be sure that I'm not him? How can you be sure that he didn't just fake his death?" Shigeo's words had slightly calmed the whirl of confusion and fear in his mind, but still Tatsumi thought back to the dream—what he'd thought of as a memory—that he'd had earlier that day.

...jenda says...solo mission, the girl had said. A mission to kill?

If so, how had he gotten that image, if not from a memory? He hadn't seen the girl's face or name in the pile of posters before he'd seen his own face, but it was perfectly possible that the tax collector simply didn't have it, or that he hadn't reached her poster yet.

Something wasn't right here, even if he truly wanted to believe otherwise.

"Do you want to be him?" Shigeo said.

Tatsumi laughed grimly. " _Him?_ Why would I want to be a murderer?"

"Then that says everything you need to know," Shigeo said. "Even if you were that Tatsumi in the past—which, by the way, is completely impossible—you're *not* him anymore. Not where it counts." He paused. "Hell, if you don't want the name anymore, there's no need to stick with it. I'm sure I could come up with a good nickname for you…"

Did he really want to keep the name of a murderer?

Nothing bound him to the name; this he knew. In fact, there really was no good reason to keep it—it would only cause chaos in the long run, especially since he somehow resembled its former owner exactly. At best he would earn a few looks of bafflement and some chatter. At worst…

Well, he didn't want to think about that.

 _No reason. No reason to keep the name._ He opened his mouth intending to say as much when suddenly, as if from the other side of the room, he heard his voice say—

"I think I'll keep it."

For a moment, there was silence. It seemed that Shigeo couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Of course, there was no blaming him there—not even Tatsumi could fully understand what had caused him to say the words.

"What?" Shigeo said, raising an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"I…"

He knew what he had decided. His mind had been made up. Or had it? Some part, whether out of sentimentality or some desperate grab for identity, was refusing to let go. What was he going to do? He ran through the possibilities again; he thought of all the negative attention the name would attract—

And then he stopped.

"I'll keep it," Tatsumi said, smiling. "It's just a name."

The look of confusion on Shigeo's face cleared, to be replaced by grudging acceptance. He nodded slowly. "All right." He looked away and scanned the room, carefully considering each part of it. "I think you're done here," he said finally. "There's nothing else for you. Let's go...Tatsumi."

For an instant Tatsumi was tempted to run over to the poster with his face on it, uncrumple it, and scour it until he could be sure that there truly was no link between himself and the assassin. Instead, he focused on the doorway and the road beyond it and nodded silently, starting to walk towards it. Shigeo was right. There was no need to search for a past that he didn't need (or want) to see. At least, that was what he told himself.

For now.

* * *

It had been late in the afternoon when Shigeo had stopped his old cart in front of the tax collector's house and entered. Now, as they came out of the house, it was hard to see the cart—or anything else, really. The sky had darkened from a pastel orange to a deep, muddy blue; the moon was beginning to appear in one isolated corner of the sky.

Godo-cho seemed different in the twilight. It had seemed battered, old, and dusty in the bright glare of the afternoon, but now the darkness made it seem almost abandoned. Only the dull red glows of candles in windows and a much brighter glare emanating from what must've been the town bar gave any sign that the town was occupied. Tatsumi found himself glancing suspiciously at the shadows around him, which suddenly seemed much larger and more threatening.

"Something bothering you?" Shigeo walked up to Tatsumi, a grimy oil lamp suddenly in his hand. He nodded towards the cart. "We should get going. Don't need it getting any darker, that's for sure…"

"I'm fine." Tatsumi climbed into the cart, surreptitiously casting another quick glance at his surroundings. He wasn't sure why the darkness bothered him so much, but something felt off.

Before there was time for him to worry even more, Shigeo jerked the reins with a "Hyah!" and then the cart was off, juddering back towards Shigeo's house. They passed the windows of each building slowly, but Tatsumi still felt an odd sense of relief at leaving the place. Soon, Godo-cho was visible only as a set of faintly distinguishable buildings and lights behind them.

They rode quietly, but after a few minutes Shigeo turned and asked, "What do you feel like doing now?"

"What else?" Tatsumi said, sighing forlornly. "I'll just keep trying to figure things out." He stared across the fields. "I'm sure I'll make it. One day."

"Well, you know who to ask if you need help. And, uh…my back hasn't been so great lately, and we could always use an extra hand around the farm now and then…"

Tatsumi smiled. "I'll keep that in mind." He hesitated, a thought striking him. "By the way...could I ask you something?"

"Sure, go for it," Shigeo said. "Can't say I'll know the answer, though. Not much left in this old brain."

"What do you know about Night Raid?"

There was a short pause. Tatsumi began to think that he'd slipped up and crossed some sort of line when Shigeo simply sighed. "Still thinking about those posters, huh?"

"It's just…" Tatsumi shook his head almost reflexively, not in answer to Shigeo but out of pure frustration. "I know it's impossible that I'm that Tatsumi, but I...I just can't be sure. So I guess I just wanted to hear more about Night Raid, and see if any of it sounded familiar. But…well…"

"No, I get it," Shigeo said. "Chances are I'd do the same thing if I were in your shoes. But I should warn you…" He scratched the back of his head and gave an embarrassed cough. "There isn't much I can say about Night Raid. It was so long ago and everything was happening so far from here that we only heard little bits of what happened.

"I guess I should start by saying that three years ago, people weren't very happy with the way the guys up at the Capital ran things. Taxes were high when pay was low, and we heard about a bunch of other things that went on closer to the Capital. But over here in tiny little Godo-cho, we weren't sure _what_ to believe. Ol' Inagaki might've been a bit of a penny-pincher and sure, maybe he fiddled with the reports now and then, but most of us were fine with it. And any soldiers the Capital stationed here usually stayed in the inn now and then. They all left for the Capital after the Revolution started, though."

"But where does 'Night Raid' come in? And what's the…"

"…the Revolution? Well, this is where my story's gonna get a little patchy," Shigeo said ruefully. "Those wanted posters in Inagaki's office? That's all we really ever found out about Night Raid. The soldiers who left told us that there was a huge power struggle going on in the Capital, with the Emperor on one side and Night Raid on the other. Now, for us it sounded like Night Raid was a bunch of killers starting stuff where they shouldn't have—those posters didn't say any different—and the Empire was just defending itself. The whole thing was over before we knew it, though, and a lot of us forgot Night Raid had ever existed. Only Inagaki really remembered, since the Revolution knocked him off his cozy little perch. That's why he was acting like you were the devil himself." Shigeo shrugged. "I'm sorry, but that's all I know."

"Don't worry about it," Tatsumi said, trying to hide his disappointment. Of course Shigeo didn't know much about Night Raid. Why would he, in this town in the middle of nowhere? Still, this didn't mean anything regarding his relationship with the Tatsumi printed on the wanted posters. It looked like he would have to come to his own conclusions about that—Shigeo had done all he could.

The cart had entered a small copse that surrounded the road, and in the near-darkness of the place, lit only by Shigeo's old lantern, it was hard to make out anything other than vague silhouettes. Tatsumi was glad that his face was nearly invisible, because he was sure that Shigeo would be able to see the rising despair written in it with a single glance. Here he was lost in a land that might as well have been as dark as this patch of forest, with its blurry tree trunks and shifting figures—

Shifting figures?

He stared out at the forest a moment longer before leaning towards Shigeo, keeping the movement as slow and casual as he could. "Shigeo, I think we've got trouble," he breathed.

"Would you speak up? Breathing on my ears isn't going to make them any better—"

"I think there's someone behind that tree," Tatsumi said, now trying his best to keep from screaming in Shigeo's ear. Fear was thrumming through his body now; he was suddenly aware of his hands clutching the seat's thick wooden rail with a feverish desperation. "What should we do?"

"Calm down," Shigeo told Tatsumi, though the old man's seemed much less assertive to Tatsumi than it usually was. "We'll be fine. It's been three years since the war, and if there's one thing they done right, it's clearing out bandits…"

Despite himself, Tatsumi felt better; surely Shigeo knew something about the restoration efforts in the past few years that he didn't. He was probably just being paranoid.

Then the clearing filled with a dirty orange glow, and a collection of men stepped out. Some held lanterns; others held swords. At least fifteen armed men stared directly at them, blades held ready. One of them stepped forward.

"You know what we want," he said, levelling his sword at the pair. "Give it to us and we might not kill you."

 _End of Chapter Four_

* * *

 **Something big's coming up. Let's hope it doesn't take me over two months to write next time.**

 **But yeah, I'm really very sorry about the time it took for this chapter to come out. I always try to put as much quality into these stories in as little an amount of time as possible, but things didn't work out as seamlessly as I'd have liked. Unfortunately I'll still be just as busy for the coming parts of the year, so chapters will still be delayed considerably.**

 **With that in mind, I think I'm going to offer you guys a choice.**

 **I usually strive for ~4000-5000 words for chapter. As little an amount as that may seem, I'm the type of writer who puts way too much thought into the smallest details. The consequence of this, of course, is that chapters will take a long time for me to produce. What if I lower the amount of words for each chapter?**

 **No guarantees that things will be finished drastically faster, of course—but you can be sure that a chapter about 2000-2500 words long is going to be out at a faster rate. I'll try to keep the quality from going down proportionally.**

 **I've also got another idea in mind: I've set up a blog on WordPress for my stories in general. If things are taking over a month to be published, I'll try my best to post an update or two so that you guys aren't completely in the dark. The link's on my profile; it's easier to post there than here. Of course you guys can just shoot questions at me on there too, if you'd like.**

 **Still, this is where I need your input, so my usual parting remark's slightly more urgent than usual.**

 **Read and review, please!**

 **Thanks.**


	6. Chapter 5

**5**

For an instant, she felt someone's gaze on her neck.

Akame waited for several tense seconds before giving in to the urge to turn around, doing so a bit more sharply than intended. As quickly as she could, she ran her eyes over every detail of the street, noting the corners of the buildings and looking for traces of a hurried retreat. There was nothing to see.

The lane was empty.

In itself, that was a troubling detail. Yes, she had arrived in the town at night, so it wasn't unreasonable to think that activity would be lessened somewhat, but this street looked nearly deserted. Akame guessed that it was only about nine o'clock—maybe a bit late for any children in the town, but nothing that should have halted all activity completely. Only a few windows here and there cast a glow onto the cobblestones of the road; the rest seemed darkened. Vaguely, she wondered if the rest of the streets in Umeura looked the same.

 _Then again_ , she thought, _I guess I should be happy that there are any people left here at all._ For a town where a mass murderer had last been seen, Umeura looked relatively peaceful. Maybe the town was quiet and sullen, but that was better than the alternative.

At that thought, Akame shook any reservations about the town's silence from her mind. The people here were just wary towards strangers, she decided. There was no killing intent that she could sense anywhere, and the gaze that she had felt on her back had probably been some nervous homeowners looking at her through their windows. All this really meant was that she would have to be slightly more careful when gathering information.

Speaking of which…

Akame searched the street again, looking for a house with darkened windows. She found a relatively tall specimen not too far away, with what looked like a relatively stable roof. Casually, she ducked beneath a sign advertising Danger Beast meat and walked in its direction.

There was a small alley that stretched back between this house and another, and Akame walked straight into it. She made sure that its cover was enough to hide her from the main road before craning her head up and studying the house's wall, looking for points of purchase.

Almost immediately, she found them. A rather thick drainage pipe ran down the height of the structure, and the owner apparently liked having windows with thick, brick ledges. Akame allowed herself a wry smirk—this would be the first bit of fun that she'd had in a while. After checking that the road was clear one more time, she bent down and looked up, preparing to spring.

With a single leap she was at the first ledge—then off the side of the drainage pipe—then onto the second ledge—and finally her hands grasped the bottom edge of the roof, which she flipped over and landed on in a single seamless motion.

Four seconds, she noted mentally, crouching and advancing along the length of the roof. A little slow—Gozuki would've made her practice the motion until she could do it in a quarter of the time. Still, there were bigger things to worry about, and Akame swept the thought from her mind and moved on to her main objective.

From this position, she could see most of Umeura. Much of her view was dark and gloomy; the occupants of those areas were most likely asleep for the night. Other areas had small pinpricks of light present here and there. Akame squinted across the town, searching for larger groupings of lights. Umeura wasn't the biggest, exactly, but even it had to have a bar or some public gathering place for the night owls.

Faintly, Akame heard the sound of crunches and talking voices, and she dropped down and rolled onto the side of the roof hidden from the street. It was dark right now, but not so dark that passerby wouldn't question the appearance of a random human figure on a rooftop. After peering over the top of the roof and observing the sources of the noises, though, Akame wondered if that would really be a danger in this particular situation.

Two men were struggling down the road towards her…and clearly, one had gone a little heavy on the drinks. He was leaning heavily on his companion, who was staggering under his weight. From the way he was constantly throwing glances at his friend and then at the ground, trying not to trip, Akame was pretty sure that he wouldn't be focused on anything but not collapsing in a heap.

More importantly, a man as drunk as this one had probably gotten himself in such a state at a bar of some sort. The fact that he and his friend had left meant absences at this bar, absences that she could fill—provided, of course, that she was careful and quick enough. Akame looked up the road that the men were struggling up, checking for evidence to confirm this. Sure enough, that area of Umeura seemed lighter, indicating that something big lay there. Akame just hoped it was a bar and not a house fire.

As soon as the man and his friend straggled past, Akame rose up and ran, leaping as quickly and lightly as she could toward the glow in the distance.

* * *

From what Akame could see of the traffic flowing in and out of Ino's Bar, it was _the_ place for the men of Umeura to go. Whatever absence she'd thought that the two men had left was clearly filled already; Akame was half expecting men to start pouring out of the windows. Something told her that if she failed to find information about the possible sighting here, she wouldn't find it anywhere else.

Well, at least she had been right. Now her problem was getting said information as subtly as possible.

Just waltzing in through the front doors was clearly out of the question. The silence of the town, the emptiness of the streets, and the tendency of the residents to band together in groups all pointed towards a pervasive distrust of outsiders. A step by Akame through the doors of Ino's would immediately scatter any hopes of information, mark her as a threat to the criminal possibly hiding in Umeura. She didn't want to do that yet, not until she could locate the traces of the larger organization here.

Still, subtler methods of surveillance were somewhat limited. Akame couldn't just squat outside a window and eavesdrop—not only would such a thing be uncomfortable (and somewhat humiliating), it would most likely be completely useless. Only unbelievable luck would allow her to hear exactly the right words from exactly the right people at exactly the right time, and the windows only covered a small portion of the bar anyway. She needed to sift through all the conversation in the room, not just a few words here and there. And if she wasn't able to do it quickly—

 _What was that?_

Something had moved in the shadows near the bar, and Akame immediately focused on it. Her mind immediately tensed, noting the positions of corners, possible assailants, and Murasame. She prepared for an attack…

...and a thin hawk-nosed man in a waiter's uniform stepped out of the shadows, noisily hawked a loogie, and promptly backed into the shadows again.

For a moment Akame just stood and stared blankly like an incredulous statue, her eyes fixed on the place where the man had disappeared. _If the rest of the staff looks like that,_ some corner of her mind thought distractedly, _I'm definitely not getting in that way._ She could feel a slight hint of frustration, just waiting to swamp her thinking process.

Wearily, Akame scanned the building's structure again, reviewing its points of entry. Of course the main door was smack-dab on the center of Ino's, and several windows were positioned here and there. Possibly there was a back entrance into the main room that she couldn't see. She knew, too, that some sort of staff entrance into the kitchens existed in the shadows near the side; the hawk-nosed man's appearance had shown that readily enough.

And therein lay another problem.

Something about that particular incident had bothered her, in a way she couldn't quite define. What was more, it had only lasted for a few seconds, so whatever was off about the scenario had to be _really_ off—and yet Akame was still missing it.

"Off", though, in what way? As much as she had been trained to ignore first impressions, she was finding it hard to believe that the man had been part of any meticulous trap. Umeura was as devoid of killing intent as any town she'd ever infiltrated, and she certainly didn't think any surprises waited here.

The man had stepped out of the shadows. He had stopped. Hawked a loogie. Stepped back into the shadows. Shut a door. Stepped out of the shadows. Stopped. Hawked a loogie. Stepped back into the shadows. Shut a door. Stepped out of the shadows stopped hawked a loogie stepped back into the shadows shut a door stepped out of the…

 _Shadows._

From the moment the man had appeared to the moment he had shut whatever door was opened, the area had remained inscrutably dark. Surely _some_ light would've appeared when he'd opened the door; after all, what kind of cook would work in pitch darkness? Akame drew in a slow breath, considering. Now that she thought about it, the sound of the door had seemed too heavy as well. It'd sounded like something from a large, heavy trapdoor, rather than the flimsy wooden panels typically found at the back of kitchens.

If that was true, then where did this particular door go?

Akame was already moving before she had fully finished the thought—because really, there was only one way to find out for sure.

Because it was relatively late already, the traffic in and out of Ino's had trickled to a halt. That meant that almost nobody saw a dark figure flash across the street (and anyone who had would probably have blamed it on too much of Ino's special sauce). Moments later Akame was in the the alley beside Ino's, staring at a heavy wooden trapdoor half-embedded in the ground. Faint conversations and laughter punctuated the silence now and then; no one gave any sign that they had noticed her sprint across the road.

Cautiously, Akame inched towards the trapdoor, trying to hear any sounds of approach. She hadn't heard the door swing open a second time, which meant that the hawk-nosed man was still occupied with whatever lay underneath.

For now, all seemed quiet.

She knelt and studied the door as best she could. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness a long while ago, but because the door was nearly the same drab shade as the dirt, details were still hard to make out. It seemed as if it had been there a long time. Scratches and scuff marks were spread out across the door's rough surface, and the edges of the trapdoor's mount were sunk into the dirt, nearly invisible. Even after its recent usage, Akame could still make out the faint sheen of dust across its top. This door was old—older, she bet, than the Group that was currently wreaking havoc across the Empire.

Of course, that didn't mean that whatever division of the Group was in Umeura right now hadn't commandeered it for their own purposes. She would still have to go carefully here.

Akame stood up and brushed off her knees. For now, nothing could happen while the man was still inside. While she could move silently enough to fool the most sensitive Danger Beast, the thick wooden trapdoor didn't exactly have the same skill set; opening it would immediately announce her presence. The only option now was to wait.

So she did—crouching in the shadows, backing further into them when people passed, keeping one corner of her mind focused on her surroundings, but always watching the trapdoor.

It felt like hours went by, though in reality only about twenty minutes passed before Akame heard the slow creak of the trapdoor opening. She moved as far back into the shadows as she could, watching the widening gap between ground and door intently.

Sure enough, the balding top of a head began to poke out of the entrance, rising further to become that of the hawk-nosed man. He stepped fully out of the opening, and as he turned to shut the trapdoor again, Akame saw him holding something in his hand. She squinted at it as the man slammed the trapdoor shut. From this distance all she could make out of it was that it was long, somewhat thin; anything else was obscured by the dark and a cloud of dust that had flown up when the man had shut the trapdoor. The man rose up, brushing off his hands.

He looked around cautiously. His eyes passed right over Akame and kept on going, and eventually he seemed satisfied that he was alone in the alley. Still clutching that mysterious something, he tottered around and stumbled out of the alley. His footsteps grew fainter as he headed away, toward some unknown destination.

For a long moment, Akame waited to make sure that no one else would be following the man out of his little hiding spot. The last thing she needed was to open the trapdoor and come to face to face with someone who would immediately try to sound the alarm. It was doubtful that they'd live long enough to do so, but still—something to avoid.

But nothing else near the trapdoor stirred, and after waiting another tense five minutes Akame decided that it was finally time to open the trapdoor. She glanced quickly up the alley, making sure that the hawk-nosed man was nowhere in sight.

 _Okay._

Akame lifted the trapdoor and slipped under. With a last glance down the alley, she eased it back into position. Then she turned around to inspect her surroundings.

She had expected utter or near-darkness, from what she had seen in the alley. Instead, what she found was that light from the main room leaked through the floorboards of the building, so that a large portion of the underground chamber was lit with a dusty yellow glow. The faint outlines of barrels were clearly visible in the light, and Akame suddenly realized what this place was—the wine cellar of Ino's. Rows and rows of barrels stretched back into the rest of the room, some of them labelled haphazardly with different dates and vintages. As Akame took another step forward, her foot landed in a puddle of something with a splash. She looked down quickly to see a pool of some liquid. As she watched, it rippled with a drop from a nearby barrel.

Well, at least that explained what the hawk-nosed man had been doing here. Akame had been worried about the long, thin object she had seen him holding, but now it seemed very likely that the man had only been lugging around a bottle of wine.

"Don't tell me this is the best you've got," a male voice said.

For a moment Akame almost thought that the man had returned to steal more of Ino's wares and was trying to start a conversation with her for some reason, but then the voice spoke again in response to another, more muffled one. She realized that she was hearing a conversation through the boards above her.

"I'm sorry, but…" There was a series of _creak_ s, and the slits of light above were briefly blocked out by a shadow. Evidently whoever the man was talking to was standing, and seemed a little nervous. A waiter, maybe. "We haven't been at our best lately, what with the bandits and all."

There was some more grumbling in response, but Akame didn't pay any real attention to it. She was much more focused on the fact that she'd found her way to sort through all the conversation in Ino's. If this cellar extended under as much of the bar as it seemed to, this would be a lot easier than she'd thought at first. Yes, it would take a while, but eventually she'd find some information.

 _Alright,_ she thought, with some satisfaction. _Now to find the corners of the room and start there—_

—at which point the trapdoor creaked open again, and a set of footsteps thundered down the stairs. Akame could guess all too well who they belonged to.

Quickly, she ducked behind a set of barrels, which had been stacked rather haphazardly. The action would've been painfully obvious to any watching observer, but Akame was counting on the fact that the hawk-nosed man would be too focused on the barrels of wine to notice anything else. With luck, he'd just get another helping of drink and leave the cellar again.

She heard some muttering from the general direction of the trapdoor, followed by the _crinkle_ of paper. Akame nearly groaned with impatience. Just her luck, an alcoholic who apparently liked his drink with some reading. Now it was possible that the man would stay until the bar closed, and all the patrons left.

At this point, it would simply be more efficient to just sneak up behind the man and knock him out. In his current state, a hard knock on the head would at least put him out of the picture for twelve hours or more—and the man would just wake up with a suspiciously strong hangover.

The more Akame thought about it, the more this seemed the right course of action to take. She'd be doing Ino's a favor anyway; it seemed none of the management knew about this hole in their (admittedly flawed) security.

A sudden snuffling sound reminded her just how close the guy was. Strangely enough there was more muttering, now. Akame wouldn't normally have been too particular about hearing a drunk man talk to himself, but something this time unsettled her. This voice seemed...

 _Anyway._ It was probably a good time to go for the man now, before he shifted position or meandered off to some completely different part of the cellar.

Akame turned and crept back into the mess of barrels, looping around to a place behind the man's back. She couldn't actually see him from this position; too many barrels were in the way, but she could still hear his muttering over the faint din of conversation in the bar.

A muffled laugh sounded directly overhead as Akame stared at the sea of barrels, trying to plot the safest and quietest course across them. A few creaks and groans here and there would be fine, nearly indistinguishable from the footsteps of the people above, but anything too drastic would send the man into a panic. She couldn't afford that, not here.

If Akame could hear the laughter and chatter of people above the floorboards, then they could definitely hear a grown man scream from beneath them.

Still, this was a bunch of barrels, not a set of rocky spikes across a sea of lava. And the man was just a drunken, hawk-nosed specimen, not someone who had been trained to detect and stop attacks before they even happened. Akame doubted he would suddenly start doing so now.

More laughter sounded from above as Akame maneuvered through the barrels, as if the patrons above could see through the floor and were laughing at how precariously she was stretched out. She gritted her teeth and kept going.

That wouldn't matter very much in a few moments. She was close enough now that she thought she could see the top of the man's head, as well as a slight flickering from a lantern she must've missed earlier. The man's muttering was clearly audible, too, and his voice—

His voice—

Akame stopped, a sudden realization hitting her.

 _Not_ voice. _Voices._

Now that she was listening more carefully, Akame also realized that the muttering belonged to voices that couldn't possibly have belonged to the hawk-nosed man. They sounded...younger, not quite those of children, but also not quite like those of grown men. And there were at least two.

She was inching along the barrels now, no longer so eager to reach her destination. The fact that the voices seemed to belong to teenagers didn't really comfort her; she knew better than anyone what they could do. Akame felt a sudden twinge of unease.

Anyone with lesser training and experience might have dismissed this as simple nerves, or even embarrassment her misidentification of the teenagers, but Akame had been through enough missions to know that neither of these things were affecting her. No, this was a secret that only the Empire's best assassins had ever had access to, something usually restricted to the highest-level Danger Beasts — the ability to sense the level of aggression in an area.

Killing intent.

She could feel it now, a low-level prickling that made slight goosebumps rise up on her skin. That, in itself, was a small relief. It had been nearly five years since Akame had had to deal with anything beyond Danger Beasts. While she didn't really want to admit that she'd slipped out of practice, the fact remained that her reactions and judgement weren't what they'd used to be. These teenagers might've had killing intent present in their minds, but it was only concentrated at a level slightly above that of the average Empire soldier. Not remotely a threat if she played her cards right, but still...it made her wonder.

Were these teens part of the Group?

If so, Akame could forget about sifting the conversations going on above her for information. There was a much more important talk going on right next to her.

She moved as close as she dared along the barrels, even more conscious of every _creak_ and _slosh_ they made as she crawled. Whoever they were, these teenagers were murmuring _very_ quietly — even this close, Akame could barely hear what they were saying. With some straining, she thought she could pick up two distinct voices. One seemed younger than the other, though oddly enough the older voice was the one that was subdued, almost nervous.

"...so, you're sure this has to happen," it said.

"I told you already," the other, younger voice replied. "He told them about us, or at least about _him_ —"

"But what about the safe? How're we going to find it if we…"

"...kill him? Easy. If we threaten the coward enough times, he'll definitely spill. C'mon, you're acting like it's gonna be hard to push around a scrawny little tax collector!"

"And then we just get rid of him after?"

"Yeah," the younger voice said. There was almost nothing in its tone to indicate that the concept meant anything; no change in cadence or stammer. Akame had a pretty good guess as to where most of the killing intent here was concentrated.

"I...guess that could work."

"If you're done worrying about that, let's get back to some more _important_ stuff…"

The two talked for a bit more. From what she could make out of the rest of the conversation, Akame was almost completely sure that these were members of the Group. They seemed to be taking an inventory of Umeura and assessing its risk factors. The papers that she'd heard signs of earlier weren't an alcoholic's late-night novel; they were reports of some sort to be delivered to a "Leader", for him to decide whether or not the town was worth visiting.

Worth destroying.

Beneath her, the little meeting was wrapping up like any other business get-together or lunch date. Akame felt a pang. The atmosphere as the two folded up the papers and prepared to leave almost reminded her of what she had been a part of once. But there wasn't any nostalgia here—this was no Night Raid, and Akame had no meetings to attend, now or ever again. With luck, she would make sure that the same was true for this Group, and all its members.

First, though, she had to decide what to do about these two.

They were getting up now and turning in the direction of the trapdoor, and Akame had no doubt as to what their next goal was. The killing intent that she felt—even if it seemed, mostly, to be focused in whoever this younger teenager was—told her that if she didn't stop them soon, Umeura would wake up the next morning to find one of its people dead.

Distantly, in another part of the cellar, the trapdoor slammed shut. Instead of immediately bolting after the pair, Akame just sat and listened to the swinging of its handle for a moment. It was very likely she'd kill someone tonight, for the first time in years. She had to be calm. She had to be ready to—

 _Eliminate._

Akame stood up.

 _End of Chapter Five_

* * *

 **Sorry—as usual, this chapter took too long to finish. I did start off with the intention to write a shortened version, but at ~2000 words I found that the chapter was nowhere where I wanted it. There was a point that I had to reach. From there it just developed, and at a certain point I threw up my hands mentally and just wrote the entire thing out.**

 **Oh, almost forgot.**

 **I got a PM the other day that asked, "What was that whole thing with Tatsumi and his name? Why did he start freaking out about his own assassinations?" Since this is a question that I think some others might have had as well, I guess I'll just answer it here. If you want to figure out the reasons yourself, then it's probably a good idea to stop reading about here. (Besides, it kinda kills the immersion when an author talks about their own story.)**

 **Anyways.**

 **I know how crazy the idea seems at first glance; after all, generally it's not a good idea to change a character to insult his own history and call himself a psychopathic maniac. That being said, it was the result that, to me, made the most sense for someone in Tatsumi's situation—both mentally and physically.**

 **He's lost almost all his memories, and he's also in a part of the Empire that's so far from the Capital that it's a wonder the people there obey its authority at all. Out there, really the only information that Tatsumi would be able to find about Night Raid (and himself) would be through the Empire's former propaganda.**

 **I think it's safe to say that that kind of propaganda wouldn't talk about Night Raid too nicely.**

 **Even though Tatsumi's mind is almost completely a blank slate at the moment, though, he's still got his basic personality. There's that idealism and innate goodness that we see in the series, and that's not going to change. Such a person would react to the idea of a family-murdering serial killer** _ **pretty**_ **negatively—and that's what triggers the bulk of Tatsumi's inner conflict.**

 **Hope that was enough of an answer! (Also, sorry for the lateness of said answer.)**

 **Anyways, having broken one of the cardinal rules of fiction-writing, I'll say goodbye for now. If it still means anything, I'll also give my customary promise: the next chapter won't take as long. Promise. Everything is ready to start moving now, and I think a lot of the chapters to come will almost write themselves.**

 **Until then, see you! Read and review—really, though I say it again and again, every response you give me means a lot.**

 **Thanks.**


	7. Chapter 6

**6**

The papers dropped to the desk with a dry shuffle, followed by a stack of coins.

Five thousand Imperial Yen.

Only _five thousand_ for the most important information those idiots had ever had for the past five years.

The tax collector debated slamming his fist on the wood, then settled for a doleful sigh. This situation didn't warrant a slam; those always hurt his hand anyway.

He reached out and picked up the stack of bills again, riffling their edges. Even if he'd been completely ripped off—in his mind, a sum of ten million Imperial Yen would've been closer to what he really deserved—he could still savor the feel of the money, its smell…

"Enjoying that reward?" a voice asked from behind him, its tone quiet and dripping with contempt.

With a shout of fear, the collector tried to turn around—only to stop as a hard, sharp point pressed against the back of his neck. "W-who..."

"It doesn't matter."

That comment didn't stop the tax collector from frantically racking his brain anyways; looking for _some_ way to make a deal; convince this person to put the blade down. The voice sounded young, maybe that of a teenager. Most likely male, even though it was on the higher side—

An arm reached over his shoulder and picked up the bills scattered across his desk, then disappeared out of his view again. It had seemed burly, that of a muscular teenager, maybe; completely at odds with the quiet, lilting voice. The sword against his neck didn't even waver as the crinkling of paper sounded from behind him.

 _Dear God, are there_ two _of them?_ Any remaining prospects of fighting evaporated from the collector's mind at the thought. "W-what do you want?" he stammered out. "If it's money, or s-something else..."

A laugh. "I think you know exactly what we're looking for," the voice said. "Right?"

The collector stayed silent, too paralyzed with terror to reply.

"Or maybe not. Here, let me help."

—and suddenly, the pressure on the back of his neck increased, then flared into a line of fiery pain. With a shout, the collector lurched forwards, towards the desk. "Please," he gasped. "Whatever I did, I'm sure there's some way for me to make amends…"

Another laugh, though this time he thought he heard a second, deeper voice layered underneath the first. "You lost any chance at that the second you gave out information about us."

"Ab-bout you?" The collector was nearly babbling now. "I never—the only thing I said—" A terrible thought came to him. _But no, no..._ "No. It's impossible!"

"Is it?"

They were joking, or crazy, or both. They had to be. But even if they were…

"Why are you _defending_ him?" the collector stammered out, all thoughts of the sword temporarily forgotten. "He's—he's a monster, a demon—"

The sword against his neck increased pressure again, making him yelp with pain again. "Enough," the voice said, all traces of amusement gone. "It's time for you to shut up." There was a _whistling_ from behind as the sword was lifted and swung back.

Silence. All the collector could do was wait.

He heard some sounds come from behind him—closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in preparation for what he knew was coming—

"Actually," a new voice said, "keep talking."

* * *

One of the first things that had been drilled into the members of the Empire's Elite Seven was the complete suppression of emotion during a mission. Fear and uncertainty were heavily frowned upon, and other emotions, especially humor, were unthinkable.

That didn't keep a slight smile from ghosting across Akame's face as the other three members of the room—killers and all—gave a trio of the most unmanly yelps possible, and whirled to face her.

" _Eliminate._ "

The larger teenager was the first to fall.

Sure, he was big and strong, but Akame had dealt with opponents who had been bigger and stronger—and infinitely faster. She threaded past his clumsy attempt at a slash and dealt him her own with Murasame. A wet red smile opened on his throat; with a gurgle, he fell to the ground, juddering and kicking as the poison found its way to his heart. There was a stunned silence from the other two as the body crashed to the ground.

A small whimper came from the collector, who was staring at her now, eyes wide. "You're—my God, you're—"

"Fucking _bitch!_ "

The remaining teen rushed at her. Akame sidestepped his first slash; parried his second. He seemed barely fazed by her relaxed defense—with an incoherent roar, he launched into a flurry of stabs and slices, each wilder than the rest. Any semblance of calm was gone.

As she warded off another attack, Akame caught a slight movement from the collector in the corner of her eye. It was just a quick flick of his head, a glance in the direction of the door, but Akame knew that he was thinking of running. She couldn't let him do that now, not when she still needed information—

A particularly vicious slash almost caught Akame in the neck, and she backed a step before narrowing her eyes.

This had gone on long enough. She'd only let the boy flail around as long as he had because she'd been trying to gauge his usefulness, and she knew what had to be done now.

His next stab was as weak as it was wild. Akame caught his hand, twisted, and then rammed the side of her hand into his temple while he was still crying out in pain. The boy fell, his sword clanging to the ground a moment later.

Akame regarded his slumped form for a moment, then turned just in time to catch the paperweight before it slammed into her head.

"That," she said, lowering her hand and looking at the quivering tax collector, "was a bad idea."

She set the thing down on a nearby desk and started towards the man. The collector seemed frozen between his desk and the door; he stared at her as she approached. For some reason his mouth was half open—maybe caught in the middle of a halfhearted apology for the throw, or a cry for help. Not that Akame was eager to hear any of it. There was only one thing she needed to hear.

" _You_ were the informer who gave the New Empire information about the Group," she said, not waiting for the collector to deny it. The little...exchange he'd been having with the two boys before she'd revealed herself had proven the fact beyond all doubt. "What did you tell them?"

The man didn't react to her question. "You're...her," he said instead, almost to himself. He was still staring at her with something very similar to horror. "You're…"

Akame fought back the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes. I'm Akame," she said. "Now tell me. Everything."

The man's eyebrows furrowed. "You...you w-won't kill me after I've told you?"

"Why would I?" Akame said. "I saved you just now." _And you_ owe _me for that,_ she thought silently, hoping the collector would come to the same conclusion.

But maybe he wouldn't. From what she'd seen of him so far, the man took everything for granted remarkably quickly. Something told her the only reason she wasn't dodging more paperweights and pens right now was that she was staring straight at the guy.

He held that stare for a few more moments, before breaking away and gazing at the floor instead. "Fine," he murmured, letting out a shaky breath. "Fine." He looked up again. "But you must understand—I'm a poor man," he said, waving a hand around him.

Akame glanced at the stacks of coins on his desk, at all the books with their gold-rimmed bindings, then back at the collector. "Sure you are." She raised an eyebrow slightly. "And?"

The man hesitated before continuing. "I wasn't meaning to ask for...donations, of course." He paused again, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. When Akame gave no reaction he sighed dramatically and said, "No, of course not. But I've just realized that what I told the New Empire might have had some...inaccuracies. If those happened to give more profit, well, you understand…"

So. He'd lied for himself, too—lied to the people who were trying to save the New Empire; lied to _Najenda_. Akame was slowly realizing just what kind of person she'd saved.

Her expression must have reflected some part of what she was thinking, because the collector blanched visibly. "Not that that would ever happen here," he stammered. "I'd...eh...double-check my facts extremely carefully this time."

" _Great._ " The words came out as a growl, but Akame was past caring about diplomacy at this point. "Do you think you remember where most of these _inaccuracies_ were?"

"I...I think so, yes."

"Fine. Let's start with information about this new warrior that the Group has," Akame said, shifting her tone to one almost ridiculously casual. It never was a good idea to show heightened interest in front of any businessman, even if the businessman in question was a second-rate tax collector. "This boy."

If there'd been any lapses in her tone, the man showed no sign that he'd picked up on them. Then again, he hardly seemed focused on her at the moment—he was staring off into space. "This boy," he echoed softly. He turned his gaze to her, with an expression that seemed vaguely confused. "You really know nothing about him?"

Akame kept her face impassive, but she couldn't help thinking that if the information that Najenda had given her was somehow—impossibly—accurate, she would know a lot more than _nothing_ about him. But here, in front of this man…

"No," she said. "Nothing."

"What an interesting thing to say." The collector gave an odd little laugh and shook his head.

Akame gritted her teeth. "Why," she said, making the word more of a command than a question. Just her luck—it seemed as if getting anything useful out of this talk would be like trying to pan for gold with a dessert spoon.

Then the collector gave that odd little laugh again, and said, "Imagine that—Akame of Night Raid, saying she knows nothing about _Tatsumi_. I never thought I'd—"

It was at this point that Akame's thinly controlled calm gave way. Before the little man in front of her could even blink she'd flashed forward and slammed him against the wall by the neck, shifting Murasame into her free hand and pointing it at his face. Eyes wide, the man wriggled and tried to worm out of her grip.

"Let me make this clear," Akame hissed. "I ask you questions. You answer, no lies and no stalling. If you don't think this sounds like a good idea…" She tilted her head slightly towards Murasame, then fixed him with her most remorseless stare. "Got it?"

"Y...yes."

Akame narrowed her eyes at him one more time, then released him and stepped back. She knew the anger she had just displayed was about as unprofessional as anyone could get, but for the guy to say _that_ and bring up Tatsumi...well, she couldn't really blame herself.

"We're going to try this one more time."

The collector let out a shaky breath and jerked out a single nod in response, his gaze still following Murasame's blade.

A short silence followed. When it seemed unfortunately likely that the man wasn't about to say anything without some prodding, Akame sighed and said, "So, the warrior?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the collector mumbled. He'd stopped staring at the sword like a paralyzed deer, but now seemed oddly interested in his fingers. "It's just…well, you see…"

A chilling thought occurred to Akame then, one that completely overwhelmed her annoyance with his incessant stalling. No—in fact, with that taken into account, her fear suddenly seemed all the more possible. With this guy's track record when it came to honesty and plain common decency, what if…wasn't it possible that—

"You never saw him at all?" Akame felt a razor-sharp sweep of despair, _real_ despair, run through her.

"No! No, I...I saw him," the man said. When Akame didn't respond, he paled and nervously added, "I haven't lied to you…ma'am."

Akame barely heard him. A wave of pure relief seemed to be roaring in her ears; breathlessly, barely able to keep the eagerness out of her voice, she said, "Keep going. Where did you see him? When?" _What_ , she thought, _did you lie about?_

"H-he came here," the tax collector said, seemingly oblivious to Akame's sudden interest.

" _Here?_ " Her mind was spinning with the possibilities—if he'd been here, maybe he'd left something behind, some sort of sign. Sure, it had been a couple of months, but still… "What did he do?"

"Asked me a bunch of questions. Stood over me and practically interrogated me, he and…" The man stopped suddenly; shook his head. "Anyway," he said, "it was—"

"Wait. You cut yourself off there just now." Had he really thought she wouldn't notice?

"I-it was just a stutter. I'm a l-little nervous right now," the man said, glancing again at her sword. "Look, there's more to say about the boy himself…"

His voice trailed off as Akame shot him a long glare. Akame was pretty sure he had never really expected to get away with his little verbal stumble, not in front of her.

After another long silence, the man sighed.

"Fine." He closed his eyes. "He was with Shigeo," he said, shaking his head and sighing again as soon as he spoke the words.

Akame frowned. _Shigeo?_ Mentally, she sorted through all the reports and information Najenda had given her—everything from the location of Umeura and sightings of Group members, to the cheapest entree at Ino's—but couldn't remember any mention of a 'Shigeo'.

"I've never heard of a 'Shigeo'," she said finally, regarding the tax collector with a quizzical glance. Clearly something about the name was bothering him, but what?

The man fidgeted. "You wouldn't have. He was one of the things I...forgot...to mention."

"Uh-huh," Akame said, raising an eyebrow. "Just to be clear, exactly what other things did you _forget_ to mention?"

"Well..." the man began, and Akame immediately knew from from the tone of his voice that she would be sitting here for a while just listening to him warm up—something she had no time for.

After all, she still had one more interrogation to conduct.

"Forget it," she said, cutting the tax collector off before he could get any further. "Tell me one thing. Who is this 'Shigeo' you seem so scared of talking about? If he's threatening you..."

"No." He took a ragged breath. "Shigeo"—here he stopped for a moment; rubbed a hand across his face before continuing—"was an idiot. An idealist, a farmer. Always stopped on the road to help, always ended up feeding at least one hobo per day. I told him it couldn't last. I told him! One day he'd be a little too generous to someone a little too rough. But did he listen? No—and then…"

"What happened?" Akame asked softly.

"He came in here one day with a bunch of grain," the tax collector said. "I'd…asked…him to bring food. That was all I'd been expecting. But then he told me he'd found a boy laying on the side of the road, with no memory at all…"

It couldn't be. He had to be lying. Akame wanted to stop the tax collector now, stop him from making more of this up before his little story reached the place she knew it would, but some part of her just couldn't…

"He begged me to help this boy, tried to appeal to my _better nature_." The collector scoffed. "And can you believe it? I did. I did! And then, that night—" He broke off, and his mouth opened and closed once before he swallowed hard and finally spoke.

"Shigeo," he said, "has been dead for two years. And Tatsumi was the one that stabbed him in the back."

* * *

"We're almost there!" Shigeo yelled, as the cart shook and sped back down the road. "Only a little way left to go! Then we get help!"

" _A little way?_ " Tatsumi yelled back. "We're forty-five minutes away from Umeura!"

" _Thirty_ -five! Come on, don't act like we're dead already!"

Quickly, Tatsumi looked back to see a second cart rolling after them, with a bunch of men hanging out its windows and shouting. "At least they're not—"

Suddenly a loud _bang_ sounded, and something small and metallic whipped past Tatsumi.

He jerked back. "What the heck was that?"

"One of those jokers got their hands on a Capital-issue gun somehow," Shigeo said grimly, clenching the reins and snapping them another time. "Still, if we're lucky, they don't have too much ammo..."

Another _bang_. This time, part of the road in front of them burst upwards in a small cloud of dirt and shattered rock.

"What're we supposed to do now?"

Shigeo laughed once, bitterly. "What else _can_ we do? All we got is to hope that they keep shooting as awfully as they have so far," he said, snapping the reins one more time.

They drove on for another forty seconds before Tatsumi noticed something odd. It was hard to be sure, what with the rattling of their own cart, but something felt wrong. Absent. Slowly, as carefully as he could, Tatsumi risked a quick glance around the side of the cart.

The bandits' car was still behind them, but something was strange, all right… "They've stopped," Tatsumi called back to Shigeo.

Even with his attention still on the cart, Tatsumi could practically hear the satisfied grin in Shigeo's voice. "Guess they're giving up the chase. We made it, kid—"

At that moment, one final _bang_ sounded from behind them, and the back axle of the cart exploded into a mess of splinters. The wheels spun off into the dark; with a groan of creaking wood, the cart dragged to a halt as its back end slammed into the ground. Tatsumi understood then, his stomach sinking.

The bandits hadn't given up. They'd been aiming.

Behind him, there was a muffled curse and a groan. "You okay?" Shigeo called. "That was a pretty nasty stop. God _damn_ , I never thought they'd actually shoot our wheels out from under us..."

Tatsumi didn't—couldn't—answer. His stare seemed glued to the bandits' cart. As he watched, one of the bandits snapped the reins of their cart and sent it trotting towards them. They weren't in any rush now. There was nowhere to go.

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it," Shigeo said, his voice sounding oddly rough. "We'll get out of this. Both of us."

 _End of Chapter Six_

* * *

 **I promise the "chronological twist", or whatever the heck you want to call it, wasn't something I just pulled out of nowhere. It was one of the things I had in mind when I first started writing this story, and I trust you guys to figure out the reason as the next few chapters come out.**

 **Sorry again, by the way. Summertime is almost here, so production times are about to drop drastically, but it's May right now and any other students out there know how busy that month is.**

 **Well, anyway. Thanks for reading, and please review—it means a lot to me.**


	8. Chapter 7

**7**

It really was odd how _calm_ he felt.

They stood in the middle of the road, with their cart still tilted in the dirt behind them. Tatsumi looked at the bandits, with their merciless eyes peering through the slits in their masks, with their swords extended and pointing, with their leader slowly sauntering towards him—and felt nothing.

Shigeo's hand was still on his shoulder; Tatsumi could sense it trembling. _"Don't worry about it,"_ Shigeo had said to him. _"We'll get out of this. Both of us."_ For some reason his face pulled into a small smile at the thought that the person trying to comfort him was, in fact, the person who needed comforting.

No. Wait. Why was he smiling at a time like this? As quickly as he could, Tatsumi forced the expression from his face before Shigeo saw it and misinterpreted it as something else—

"Hey. Punk. What're you smiling at?"

It took Tatsumi a moment to realize that the voice hadn't come from behind him, from Shigeo, but instead from the masked man walking towards him.

"Think this is funny? We're some kind of joke to you, huh?" The bandit drew his sword and pointed it at Tatsumi's face. "Let's see how funny you think this is..."

"Hold on." Shigeo's hand tightened around Tatsumi's shoulder. He stepped in front of Tatsumi and said, "Forget the kid—he's got a bit of an attitude, but hey. What kid doesn't? Just take what you want."

There was something that sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh. "Well, we got a problem there," the bandit said. "You guys tried to skip out on us. After all _that_ …we won't be as polite as we were before. We'll need a guarantee that nothing stupid's going to happen this time."

"You—hey!" Shigeo was cut off as the bandit shoved him aside and grabbed Tatsumi. "Hey—you let go of the kid—"

"Shut up," the bandit said, brandishing his sword and pointing it at Tatsumi's neck. "Now, you're going to help my friend here"—he nodded at another masked man walking towards them—"with all the nice little things in your cart. And don't try anything, or the kid gets it."

Shigeo hesitated, then sighed. "Fine." He met Tatsumi's eyes and gave him an odd look before turning around and reluctantly walking to his overturned cart.

Had that been some attempt to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay? Tatsumi barely felt anything at the thought. Even with a sword pressed against his neck, that strange calm still occupied his mind, stifling any emotion except for touches of faint amusement. He watched impassively as Shigeo lifted out a few spare sacks of wheat and barley and showed them to the masked man standing next him.

There was an irritated snort from the man behind him; the sword's edge pressed harder against Tatsumi's neck. "Hey, old man. Hurry up. You better have something we want in there, or else…" He never finished his sentence, because at the moment the sword pressing into Tatsumi's neck made a cut.

It wasn't a big cut. In fact, if any soldier had seen it they would've laughed and rolled up their sleeves to display their own gallery of serious, much larger cuts and scars. It looked more like a papercut than one from a bandit's sword.

All the same, it was enough to send the calm that had previously occupied Tatsumi's mind into a boiling, implacable mess of rage.

He would never remember the next few seconds for the rest of his life. When they had passed Tatsumi was looking at the sword, which was on the ground, and the bandit leader, who was on the ground next to it and very dead, his neck twisted at an impossible angle and his eyes wide above his mask. The calm took Tatsumi's mind again as he looked at the body, so that when he could finally think coherently, only one thought came to him as he looked at the bandit's eyes, which were full of fear and pain.

 _Well, that's interesting._

Dimly, he sensed something like a prickle of electricity run down his spine. He looked up, then turned around just in time to see the bandit that had been rummaging through Shigeo's cart running at him. There was a sword in the man's hand. Tatsumi waited, and watched as the man came closer. Finally the man reached him; swung with an angry yell—

And time began to crawl.

The man's face was still stuck in its yell, his blade inching along at a snail's pace as it approached Tatsumi's neck. Tentatively, Tatsumi tried stepping back. No change occurred in his own speed—it simply seemed as if the rest of the world had suddenly become encased in thick, invisible tar.

He looked again at the blade, which was now only about half an inch away from his neck. Almost casually, Tatsumi leaned back and watched it slide by, its tip completely missing him. _Poorly forged blade,_ some corner of his mind decided. And then another thought came:

 _This guy has no idea how to use a sword._

The thought put a smile on his face as the blade finished its arc past Tatsumi's neck. With a muffled roar, time got back on its feet again—speed and sound returned to everything else. The man staggered and almost fell over as the weight of his blade unbalanced him. He looked up and growled, "Hold still, you little f—"

Whatever name he'd chosen for Tatsumi was lost, as the man swung the blade and time began to crawl again. Tatsumi looked at the blade, which was inching towards his stomach this time, and slowly began to step aside.

He stopped halfway. Something else had occurred to him.

Why was he stepping aside and acting like the blade had any power to hurt him? At this pace, it was really like running away from an extremely angry inchworm. Sure, he could just dodge over and over again and let the man fall over himself from exhaustion, but the idea didn't seem too appealing at the moment. As a matter of fact...

 _Why not just kill the guy?_

The thought sent a strange thrill down his spine. Tatsumi looked at the body already on the ground, that of the bandits' leader. Clearly he'd killed him then—even if he didn't remember it—with no negative effects at all. It had been over in a second, and he could certainly do the same here if time continued crawling at its current rate.

Tatsumi could feel some part of him crying out, yelling to spare the man, but what reason was there to do that? In that moment, all Tatsumi could see was a collection of meat that had learned to wave around a sword—and there was only one place for meat to end up.

He reached towards the man's hand and grabbed his wrist, then twisted it hard to the right. For a moment Tatsumi stopped and looked at the man's face, watching the surprise creep slowly up his features as he watched his own sword get wrenched out of his hand.

Then, Tatsumi snatched the sword out of the air and killed him.

* * *

"You think you're getting anything out of me? I'm not as weak as that stupid tax collector."

Akame looked at the teen: at his eyes as they followed the tip of Murasame; at the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. She inched the blade closer and watched his shoulders tense and his body angle away.

"Yes," she said, "I think I will."

The teen swallowed, then sneered. "Won't matter."

"You think so?" Akame said, barely suppressing a snort. This kind of bravado might've been plausible if the kid had managed to at least scratch her, but that had hardly been the case.

"You think I'm going to be the one you'll need to deal with? I could tell you everything right now. Where we are, who we have, what we're doing—and guess what?" He laughed. "Wouldn't help you one bit."

No use avoiding sarcasm at this point. "Believe it or not," Akame said, "I think I've had worse odds."

"You've got no idea what's waiting for you. You're clueless."

"Why don't you tell me about everything you just mentioned, then, if you're feeling so confident? All your members, your location—maybe even what this magic defense of yours is."

"I'll tell you right after you finish sticking your head up your—"

"You know something?" Akame interrupted, flashing him a sweet smile. "I'm going to kill you. I sensed enough killing intent coming off of you to tell me that you deserve that. When the sun comes up, the people of Umeura are going to find a brand new decoration hanging in their town square. Now…you know what's special about this sword?" She waited for the teen's eyes to flick to Murasame for a split second before continuing. "You get cut by it, you die—in seconds. Your partner was dead before he hit the ground. But you? Well, I don't need to be so hasty with you. There's a kind of pain that makes anyone forget any allegiances they had, any loyalties they had...and it's amazing how many different ways there are to reach it."

The sneer left the teen's face, but Akame didn't stop talking.

"I knew someone who used to take the skin off his victims. He had a collection. He'd put their faces on his walls and label them every night, then go to sleep with a smile on his face. And I knew someone else, too.

"I knew a girl who loved fingernails. She took great care of her own, but she wasn't ever satisfied with how they looked. So you know what she did? She started collecting nails from the people she met, to see if they knew something she didn't. She'd look right into their eyes, smile, and just…" Akame stopped, looked right into the teen's eyes, smiled, and said, "… _pulled_."

"Alright, alright!" the teen yelled. "I...I get it," he said, shuddering. "But I still can't say anything. All those things you mentioned? I don't know if you'd actually do them. But I know someone who _would_ —and he'll kill me when he finds out."

" _If_ he finds out."

"No." The teen shook his head. "No. He'll find out, alright. And when he does, there won't be a thing you'll be able to do about it."

* * *

Tatsumi let the body of the twelfth bandit slide to the ground and looked at one of the last, raising his sword. Only three left now out of the fifteen, by his count.

"St-stay away!" One of the men in front of him backed away, raising his hands. He let his sword fall to the ground. "Look! I don't want any trouble!"

Tatsumi shook his head and strode towards the man. "How many people said the same thing to you just before you ruined their lives?"

"How many—?" The bandit's tone turned confused. "This is my first raid... _and I won't do it ever again!_ " he yelled, his tone turning frantic as Tatsumi continued to walk towards him. " _So please, just—"_

Tatsumi swung the sword. The man stopped speaking.

That left two bandits. One was right in front of him, in a shaky fighting pose that elicited nothing but amused contempt in Tatsumi. The other…

The other—

 _Oh._

Slowly, Tatsumi turned to face Shigeo, and saw exactly what he'd feared.

"N-now, you listen here," the fourteenth bandit said, holding his sword across Shigeo's neck. "You're done, you got it? You make a move and this geezer here dies."

How could he have been so careless? All this time, he'd happily slashed his way through the bandits' ranks, while completely ignoring the most important thing.

Tatsumi tried to think, even as the prickling in his spine increased. The bandit behind him was getting closer.

What if—what if he let the bandit behind try and slash at him, and let time slow—or whatever the heck it was doing for him? He could try and knock the blade away from Shigeo's throat, push him away...but no, there was always the possibility that he would be too slow. The blade was too close to Shigeo's neck and he was too far, too slow to save him…

The prickling in his spine grew almost painful.

 _No, not yet, not yet!_ Every cell in his body was screaming at him to turn around and deal with the approaching threat, but Tatsumi refused. He kept his stare on Shigeo and the sword pressed against his throat. There had to be a way to save him, if he just had more time—

Shigeo's eyes met his own. He seemed to be moving his lips slightly; trying to mouth something, maybe. A suggestion? Some plea? Tatsumi squinted, trying desperately to make it out. Shigeo blinked once, twice—

—and suddenly, Shigeo's eyes were falling. Slowly.

Tatsumi knew, with a sinking feeling, that his time had run out.

He turned to see the bandit behind him with an arm outstretched, face bared in a snarl. In front of him hung the sword, which seemed suspended in midair as it slowly spun towards Tatsumi's face.

Dodging the sword wouldn't be a problem. The gaping slit that would appear in Shigeo's throat if he did so, however, would. But what was he supposed to do? Standing still and letting the sword hit him in the head wasn't the greatest idea either.

The sword spun closer.

 _What do I do? What do I do…_ The thought swirled around in Tatsumi's head again and again. His eyes felt like they were moving by themselves, flickering between Shigeo and the incoming sword.

The blade was almost at his head now.

Later he would often wonder what he would've done, if he'd been given a thousand years to think of a solution. But in that moment, with a sword only seconds away from his head, Tatsumi's body made the decision for him. He snatched the sword out of the air, and sent it hurtling back towards its thrower.

A second after the man was spread-eagled on the road with a sword planted in his forehead, Tatsumi heard a gasp and then a _gurgle._

Shigeo sank to his knees, then to the ground, blood streaming from his throat.

" _No!"_ Tatsumi screamed.

The killer barely had time to blink, Tatsumi made sure of that. Tatsumi didn't bother with a sword—instead, as Tatsumi reached the man, he put his hands around his neck and _squeezed._

With a crack _,_ the man's body fell to the ground, eyes still mid-blink.

"Shigeo." Tatsumi dropped to his knees and looked frantically at the old farmer. "Hey. Shigeo…Shigeo!"

 _There's too much blood. And a cut like that—_

Shigeo's eyes were still open. As Tatsumi stared at him, they suddenly seemed to focus. They stared at Tatsumi unblinkingly, with no expression in them—neither fear or pride. That stare seemed to last forever.

Then, slowly, it dimmed.

Tatsumi didn't scream. He stood slowly, and looked at Shigeo's body for a long time. It didn't seem right, throwing what amounted to a temper tantrum next to the remains of the man who had taken him in from the roadside and cared for him. No, it would be better to bring his body back to the farm, bury him at his home, under his own fields…

Suddenly, the voices started.

" _What's going on?"_

" _I thought I heard screams or something coming from here…"_

" _We should've brought more weapons."_

" _You think something happened?"_

They were only whispers at the moment, but Tatsumi could hear them perfectly clearly. As he listened, they got louder, transitioning from whispers to low murmurs, and finally normal voices speaking in tandem. He blinked.

Somewhere nearby, people were approaching—a lot of them.

He stared at the bend of the road, watched as its surface slowly began to flicker with the orange glow of torchlight. Soon one person would round the corner, then another, and another. They'd find him, standing among all these other bodies. And when they found him…

Tatsumi kept looking at the the road. He watched the torchlight grow stronger and the shadows get darker.

The first person rounded the corner, torch in hand. They saw him, stopped, and shouted, "Guys, there's someone out here!" Then the person turned and began running towards Tatsumi. "You okay?" they asked. "What happened here? Are these people—" The person stopped, looked down for the first time. "My God...what…"

Other people were coming closer now, men and women with pitchforks and torches gripped in their hands.

" _Isn't that the kid who came in with Shigeo…"_

" _Is that blood on his hands? And his shirt…"_

" _Everyone else, they're all—"_

One man from the crowd stepped up and pushed the first person aside. Tatsumi saw the long glint of a sword in his hand.

"What happened here, son?" The man's eyes were barely visible in the dim torchlight; they seemed first to travel to the road and then back up to Tatsumi's face. "Who killed all these people?"

Tatsumi swallowed. What could he say that would keep this crowd from becoming a mob? "They...I—"

The man's voice hardened. "I'm gonna need you to come back to town with me. There's a lot of questions that need answering." He extended a hand. "Come on. No one else needs to get hurt here."

Tatsumi looked at the man's hand, then at his face. He saw nothing but suspicion—not only in the man's expression, but in those of every person behind him. If he went now, it was very likely he wouldn't be leaving Umeura ever again.

"Well? Are you going to come quietly?" The man raised his sword slightly as he spoke.

 _I could kill them all right now_ , Tatsumi realized, as he looked at the crowd. They all stood stiff with fear, like stalks of wheat. If he killed this man and took his sword it would take less than a minute to cut the others down. His hand twitched slightly, preparing to latch around the man's wrist and—

 _No._

True, these people were very likely about to mob him. True, he could keep them from doing so with a few brisk sweeps with a sword. But Shigeo had known some of these people, maybe even cared for them. Tatsumi owed it to him to, at least, make sure that he wouldn't be the one responsible for their deaths.

Wordlessly, Tatsumi took a step back.

The man's face tightened. "Don't do this," he said, settling into a fighting stance. "There's forty of us and one of you. If you go with us now, there won't have to be any fighting—"

"You don't need to worry about that."

The man snorted. "If that's true—"

Tatsumi turned, and ran—away from Umeura, away from the mob, and away from the body of the farmer who had saved his life.

* * *

 **I have to apologize at the end of basically every chapter I write now, because I know I'm taking way too long on all of them. I'm sorry. At this point it's not the writing time, it's other things in real life that've gotten in the way.**

 **This is gonna sound pretty hollow coming from me, but I** _ **guarantee**_ **things will speed up after August. A month per chapter,** _ **at most**_ **(which I realize is pretty slow, still, but better than three).**

 **Sorry—and thanks to the people who've had the patience to deal with my terrible release schedule.**


	9. Chapter 8

**8**

Tatsumi ran through the forest. He kept running, even after the yells of his pursuers had faded and the only sound he heard was the wind roaring in his ears.

The thought of getting lost no mattered to him now. After what had happened, what was there for him to look back to? The only person he'd truly known was dead. Tatsumi increased his pace, running until the trees and bushes seemed to be flying at him out of the darkness.

Maybe it would be better to live like this—to stay in the forest like a wild animal. After what had happened, the villagers of Umeura would be hunting him like one anyway.

He shook his head, and kept running.

He ran for another few minutes before he noticed something odd happening. It was getting harder to see the trunks and leaves in front of him—with a twinge of shock, Tatsumi realized his eyes had slowly been easing into a hard squint. There was an ache in his chest that was slowly growing stronger, too. Had he been cut somewhere?

The next instant, his foot caught on something and he fell into a hard roll, tumbling through the underbrush until he slammed into the trunk of a tree and came to a leaf-covered stop.

Maybe, Tatsumi decided, as his eyes closed...maybe he was just tired.

* * *

 _He opened his eyes to see a field of white, completely untarnished and without shadow. Strangely enough, his body was suddenly perfectly intact; he felt no pain in parts of his body that had been seeping with blood only moments before._

 _He looked around and saw...nothing. Nothing but the endless field of blank white. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion—somehow, he had a feeling that_ someone _should've been waiting for him. Someone who'd been waiting for a long time._

" _Tatsumi," a voice said._

Tatsumi opened his eyes.

At first he thought he was still in that white void, because the world in front of him flared with a painful brightness and he closed his eyes, wincing slightly. He opened them again, slowly, and realized that what he had thought was white light was actually yellow and green…almost like leaves in the sunlight.

But that meant it had to be—

"Good morning, my friend."

Tatsumi's eyes shot open. For the second time in as many days, he found himself looking at another unfamiliar man.

Said man looked back at him, smiled slightly, then looked down and took a bite out of his sandwich. "Sleep well?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled as he ate. "You looked like you needed the rest, but I wasn't quite sure where you would've woken up if I'd just left you there, if you catch my meaning," the man said, gesturing around them. "So then! Here I am."

In the state he was in, Tatsumi only caught about half the words the man spoke. Something else was occupying his attention.

"Of course," the man continued, "you needn't speak of payment. I was more than happy to."

Silence. The man munched on his sandwich; Tatsumi stared at him.

" _Who_ are you?"

"A friend," the man answered easily, smiling and taking another bite of his sandwich. "Though, of course, that does lead me to ask a question of my own."

"I'm T—"

"Yes, of course." The man waved a hand. "Names can come later. For now, I'm more interested in... _that._ " His stare flicked down to Tatsumi's chest, to the old shirt that Shigeo had lent him.

The shirt hadn't been white; instead, it had been the slightly brownish off-white of natural cotton and fifty years of dust. Now, however, it was splotched with shades of color that were very familiar to Tatsumi—and nowhere near old.

The man's smile remained completely still. "Now, tell me," he said. "Just how hard would I have to be punched to get a nosebleed like that?"

"I—" Tatsumi began, then stopped. There was something about the way the man was looking at him, something about the way he had asked the question—that made him hesitate to answer in any way.

He thought he saw the man's smile widen slightly at his silence.

"Quite an odd nosebleed, though," the man said, his expression almost turning predatory. "Missed the top of your shirt completely! In fact, the way it looks"—he leaned forward, squinted slightly—"one would almost think all that came from some sort of a cut...or two." He met Tatsumi's eyes. "What do you think?"

Tatsumi tried not to let any emotion show on his face. "I guess I was lucky."

The man just looked at him for a few moments, still smiling that faint smile. "Yes," he said finally. "You are."

* * *

The teen smirked up at Akame. "I just realized something."

"Really."

"You won't kill me," he said. "And not just because of him. Youcan't kill me. I'm your only chance. If there was a Danger Beast in this clearing with us right now, you'd be trying to _save_ me!" He laughed. "Might as well just put away that overgrown knife now and stop with the empty threats. You picked the wrong guy to interrogate."

Akame just looked at him. Slowly, she lowered Murasame. "I never threatened to kill you," she said. "That was always a fact. The question...was how long it would take." She turned Murasame blade-up, and moved it so its hilt was directly above the teen's kneecap. "And you've just added a little more time to the clock." She rammed her hand down, letting the weight of the sword carry her arm straight towards its target—

He screamed.

"Enough of the posturing," Akame snarled, as the teen cried and clutched at his mangled knee. "Your _Group_ is going to destroy another town in a few days. I'm not letting more people die because one teenage kid can't tell the difference between loyalty and complete, idiotic evil."

Tears leaked from the teen's eyes. "Speak...for yourself," he hissed, even as he clenched his teeth and let out another yell. "We know...who you were...before Night Raid." His lips crinkled up into a twisted smile. "Look...at yourself," he snarled. "Still...the Empire's dog. Its _bitch._ "

In a sudden blur of movement he threw his hand forward. Instinctively, Akame raised her sword slightly, ready to defend—

—and his hand wrapped straight around Murasame's razor-sharp edge. The fingers jerked, then bled; with a sigh, he let his arm fall back. "I'm...really...pretty lucky," he rasped, as the familiar black tendrils of poison burned their way up his skin. As they began to creep up his face he stared at Akame, his eyes bright with terror and the slightest hint of triumph.

A second later, it was over.

* * *

A military man and an amnesiac orphan walked into a bar.

"We'll have to find the punchline for that someday," the man said, raising his eyebrows at Tatsumi. He called out an order Tatsumi didn't catch, some sort of drink he'd never heard of—and then waved at a seat in the corner.

Slowly, Tatsumi sat.

There wasn't any real reason to hesitate—not here—but Tatsumi didn't need to advertise just how helpless he was at the moment. Especially not after what the man knew now.

It hadn't taken long for the guy to ask Tatsumi if his parents were worried about him—the one question he could never answer. Soon after that the rest had somehow spilled out too: that Tatsumi was without a home, without a job, and without even a memory to call his own.

All Tatsumi had managed to glean from the man, on the other hand, was that his name was Michael.

Tatsumi had tried to avoid seeming too desperate, of course. He was looking for a job, he told the man. He had some ideas about where to go.

In response, Michael had simply given that smile and said, "What if I have a job offer of my own?"

 _Clunk._

Tatsumi looked up to see a mug of...something...in front of him.

"Here you are." Michael took a seat, then a huge swig out of his own mug. "Try it! Where I come from, we call this cider."

Tatsumi eyed his drink suspiciously. It seemed somewhat harmless, even if there seemed to be bubbles fizzing in it for no particular reason. He raised it to his mouth and took a sip.

"Good, no?"

Tatsumi was too busy guzzling down the rest of the drink to answer.

"I thought you'd enjoy it! Now...down to business."

What was there to say? All Tatsumi could do was set down the mug and wait.

"No need to look so tense," Michael said. "I'll ask only one thing of you today." He smiled briefly. "Any other inquiries can wait. So my question is this…"

Tatsumi tensed; he knew what was coming. The man would ask for more about the blood on his shirt, or about his memories—

"What do you think of the world you're in right now?"

"I…" Tatsumi stopped; stared at Michael. "The what?"

"You heard me."

That didn't mean he understood it! "But why—"

"The job I'm considering you for requires people of a very specific character. Your answer will tell me if you possess it."

At this point, Tatsumi was beginning to wonder if he would've been better off getting asked about his memory instead. "What if I don't have what you're looking for?"

"Don't worry about that now. Just answer the question."

Tatsumi stared forlornly into his empty mug, wishing there was just a thin layer of cider left. "Alright," he said, the word coming out as a thin little croak that made him cringe internally. He tried again. "Alright."

"I don't know much about this world anymore," he began. "It could've been a paradise; it could've destroyed my memories. But the instant I woke up…"

 _He felt a rough hand on his forehead. "You okay, son?"_

"...I knew the world I was in had good in it."

Michael gave no response.

 _The sword's edge pressed harder against Tatsumi's neck. "Hey, old man. Hurry up. You better have something we want in there, or else…"_

"But I know now that this world is also terrible." He thought of a certain farmer who had stopped to help him—then of a sniveling tax collector and a group of black-clad bandits. He thought of a pair of eyes staring into his for the last time. "Maybe it's more terrible, than good," Tatsumi said. "It's hard not to think that. Sorry. I know that's pretty general. The truth is, I can't say much—"

"What do you intend to do about this?" Michael was staring straight at him now. "How would you make sure this bad never comes back again?"

What _did_ he want to do? He didn't think he'd ever forget the sensation of cutting a person's throat (though who knew, maybe he'd forgotten it once before), but it wasn't something he looked back on well.

"I don't like killing," he said finally. He pushed aside the memory of the _calm_ he'd felt, and the ease with which he'd swung the sword. "I can't deny that there are people who need to die, though."

"You don't believe that these people can be changed?"

"Some…" Tatsumi hesitated, then shook his head. "Some can change, yeah. But others—if they have to be…eliminated...then that's what'll happen. And I'm not afraid of doing that myself."

There was no answer from Michael, for a few tense moments. The man simply sat and stroked his beard, while he stared carefully at the table.

"I told you that your job would require a person of a very specific character. A person with a mindset and mission very similar to what you've just described," Michael said finally. "How would you feel if I told you this job would involve work with others? People of a similar character."

People who thought like him, working with him? How could Michael think that was anything but a good thing? "I'm perfectly fine with that," Tatsumi said. "I guess it just depends what they'd think of me."

Michael nodded, slowly. Then, to Tatsumi's surprise, he stood up. "Well?" he called out, his voice echoing in the suddenly-silent bar. "What do you think? How would you all like to have another coworker?"

Tatsumi looked around nervously. His instincts were suddenly screaming at him now, alerting him to the presence of observers who were scrutinizing him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. How had he not noticed them before?

The bar was silent as its occupants watched him...and Tatsumi watched them. He tried to meet their gazes, to tell them that he was willing and able to work with them. What did they see—an inexperienced, weak boy, or a potential member of their group?

He never saw who nodded first, but suddenly it seemed that everyone in the room was nodding, murmuring their approval. Tatsumi breathed an internal sigh of relief.

A hand dropped on his shoulder. "Welcome," Michael said. "Just so you know, I didn't have a doubt that you'd pass my little interview."

"How could you know?"

"Oh..." Michael paused, then winked. "Just a feeling."

Come to think of it, maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to talk about this. That wink had been a little _too_ knowing for Tatsumi's taste. "I've actually got a question I forgot to ask earlier," Tatsumi said quickly.

"Ah, yes!" Michael reached out for the table and picked up his mug, which was inexplicably brimming with more cider. He took a sip. "Go ahead," he said, after lowering the mug. "If it's what I think it is, most of our recruits here have asked it before."

Tatsumi glanced at his own mug. No luck—it was as empty as it had been before. Anyway… "I think I know what you guys do," he said. "But who are you? Do you have a name?"

Michael's expression told Tatsumi that he'd asked the question that the man had been expecting. "Ah...names, names. The old conundrum. Shall I tell you what I've found?"

Tatsumi gave a hesitant nod.

"I've been alive for much longer than some people would like," Michael said. "In that time, I've fought for different reasons alongside different people. I've been part of groups, of alliances, of coalitions."

His smile, this time, didn't carry any humor or joy. Instead, it was a wistful thing, tinged with sadness.

"None of them exist anymore. Their members forgot themselves and their purpose." The sadness that had been in his expression vanished; his face hardened. "Now, on the other hand, take this Group. _My_ group." He held a hand out towards the room and looked out across it. "Ask anyone here what they're here for, and they will give you an answer—each and every one of them, the same answer." Michael's eyes burned. "No silly names. We're _us_...and that's all we need."

* * *

 **Well, damn. I screwed up, and I know it.**

 **Looking back, I've really got no idea what made me say that I could manage a month per chapter. But then again, I've also got no idea why I'm having so much trouble keeping things quick. I'm three months late, and I know it.**

 **Before I go on, I'll be honest...I finished this chapter on December 4th.**

 **So, why did I wait for three weeks? Because today is December 25th. Christmas Day. And you know what? I've decided to give you guys a present. You definitely deserve it, after sticking with my godawful schedule.**

 **Those three weeks gave me time to complete three more** _ **things**_ **. I'll say this: in the next three days, I'll be handing out the next two of those three** _ **things**_ **, one every other day.**

 **Happy holidays, guys, and sorry! Hopefully this makes up for some things.**


	10. Chapter 9

**9**

Once again, Murasame had done its job perfectly—well, almost. The blade had fulfilled all but one aspect of its reputation.

In the end, its victim had died with a smile on his face.

" _I'm really pretty lucky."_

He'd thought that he'd managed to escape. And maybe that was true, to a point. The teen wouldn't be worrying about anything for a long while, wherever he was. In his last thoughts, he'd thought that he—and the Group—had slipped out of Akame's reach completely.

Unfortunately, he'd left something behind.

* * *

The kid was actually shaking.

"Are we sure this'll work?" he asked. "I know you've been doing this for years, but—"

"Just a year," said the figure beside him. "But that's been enough time for me to figure out exactly what I'm doing." Its head turned; stared at the kid. "Try to relax, okay? You're shaking. It's okay to get a little tense, but you'll need to calm down if you want to survive in this group."

"It's just—what we're about to do…"

The figure sighed. "I guess I can't nag you about it too much. I was the same way the first time I went on one of these trips…" It paused. "Wait. Get down!"

Almost silently, it melted into the grass, its form becoming invisible. The kid tried his best to follow suit—and froze, as a pair of boots tramped by.

Neither of the two spoke again until the footsteps had faded into the distance.

The figure was the first to speak. "Okay," it said. "That was the last guard." It looked back at the kid. "Ready?"

"Uh…"

"Go." Suddenly the figure was gone, flashing across the darkness towards the building in the distance. The kid blinked once in shock, then rose to his feet and followed as well as he could. He'd thought he was fast, but next to this…

When he finally caught up, the figure was already standing by an open door. Something inside the doorway ignited with a faint snap—a lantern, the kid saw, as the darkness was replaced by a faint orange light. He shut his eyes briefly; they'd spent an hour in the dark just watching the building, and now the faint light seemed like an explosion.

When the kid's eyes had adjusted to the change, he saw that the figure was no longer alone. There was another person standing in the doorway. In a smooth motion, that person tossed a bag into the air.

The kid was almost brained before he realized that the bag had been tossed in his direction. Barely suppressing a shout of surprise, the kid caught the bag, and stumbled backwards a few steps. The _clinking_ of the contents of the bag left no doubt as to what was in it.

"There's more where that came from," the person said. "Enough that I don't feel like carrying all of it. You're going to help me with the rest."

Nervously, the kid nodded and stepped forward. As he did, he looked back at the figure, who appeared to be standing in place doing nothing. He opened his mouth to call out—

"Don't worry about him. He's doing his job."

After some hesitation, the kid looked away and followed the person into the darkness of the building.

Even with the lantern light to guide him, the kid still felt as if a box would shoot out of the darkness to trip him up. With a clumsy lurch, he avoided a sudden vase, then weaved around what appeared to be a pagoda made out of mahjong tiles.

What were bags of cash doing in a place like this? It seemed more like a warehouse for some twisted antique store.

"Hey!" The shout came from deep within the building. "What's taking so long? We don't have time for this!"

"Sorry, it's just…why put everything here?"

"I really don't feel like finding out," the person said, "and I doubt you do either. Now come on"—he grunted; hefted a bag—"we've got five of these suckers to move."

The kid ended up with four bags, because the person, as he put it, needed to light the way so the kid's "sorry ass" wouldn't trip over a shadow. Then the pair left—one of them carrying a lantern and whistling merrily, the other staggering in his wake.

When they finally reached the door that they'd entered through, the kid saw a certain figure standing in place. It had been at least ten minutes since the kid had first walked through the building's entrance. Had the figure moved at all in that time?

Just as the thought crossed the kid's mind, the figure turned and walked towards him. "I'll take some of those bags. You look like you're about to fall over."

As soon as he heard the words, the kid practically threw two of the bags at the figure. Things had gotten to the point where he wasn't even going to bother pretending that he wasn't having trouble.

In a movement that was almost scarily effortless, the figure caught the bags, slung them over his shoulder, and turned to the other person. "Ready to go?"

"Sure, but we're getting a head start."

As the kid ran after the person, he gave up trying to pick his outline out of the darkness in front of him. Instead, he just tried his best to run in a straight line, and to avoid tilting over from the weight of the bags he was carrying.

The kid risked a quick look back over his shoulder—where was the figure right now? He was pretty sure that the distance they'd covered more than qualified as a head start. Even if the figure started running at the speed that the kid remembered, would he make it in time? He squinted, but couldn't make anything out over the distance and the darkness.

A voice spoke from beside him. "You probably shouldn't run like that while carrying those bags," it said. "You'll fall over."

 _But wait—that voice belongs to—_

The kid could only look at the figure in shock. "But...you were back there," he huffed out, as they ran side by side. "Did...did you even wait for us to run?"

"You really want to know the answer to that?"

"Well..."

When the two finally reached the thicket, the other person was already waiting there. The bag that he'd taken was lumped on the ground; the lantern smoldered quietly next to it. "You didn't have to slow yourself down, you know," the person said. "Though I don't have any problems with having my ego kept intact for the night—getting outrun by you every other time is humiliating enough."

"Guess I'll have to make up for it next time," the figure said, dropping one of his bags next to the one on the ground. He picked up the lantern. "How about you help me out and take one of these bags?"

The person groaned. "Sure," he said. " _Anything_ for teamwork." He picked up both bags and put them over his shoulder, after a bit of struggling. "Guess there's no hope of outrunning you now."

"Speaking of teamwork," the figure said, "I think it's time to tell him." He turned his head slightly in the kid's direction—there wasn't much of a doubt as to who "him" was. "Can't have been easy working with two nameless 'people', huh?"

Honestly, the kid had been too busy trying to keep up and not trip to let his partners' namelessness bother him, but he nodded in response anyway. He supposed it would be nice to have some way of referring to these two other than "the fast one" and "the lazy one."

Ahead of him, the person stopped and turned around. "This isn't a great place for introductions, but I guess I'll start. My name is Ozawa."

"Nice to meet you, Ozawa." The kid waited for the figure to reveal his own name, but when nothing came from that direction except for an expectant gaze, he realized who was expected to continue. Tomeo took a breath, and told them his name.

Both the figure and Ozawa stopped moving for a moment as they exchanged glances. Then, they snorted simultaneously and started laughing, a sound that—after a night of stealthy whispers and muttered curses—was almost too loud for Tomeo's poor ears. " _...what?_ " he asked. Didn't they care about getting caught anymore?

They stopped, though a few giggles escaped them now and then. "Sorry," Ozawa said. "It's just that I've been telling this guy here that if he ever found another 'T', he'd have to open a restaurant."

Tomeo was beyond confused now. "...why?" he said slowly. What else was there to say?

"Well, think about it. It'd just be the perfect name, wouldn't it? Just say, for example...Tomeo and Tatsumi's Quality Grill."

* * *

The town found the bodies in the morning.

Maybe "found" wasn't quite the right word, actually—it would probably have been harder to miss them, where they were. Whoever had decided to grace Umeura with the decorations had placed them directly on the town's main gate, hanging in full view of all. Even the most unobservant person would have found their eye caught by a swinging motion as a certain _something_ hung in the wind.

And then, of course, there were the words gouged into the wall, cut so cleanly that anyone who saw them couldn't help but wonder what kind of blade had made them:

 _Murderers._

For the rest of the day, no one talked about anything else. Every conversation centered around the grisly discovery, whether the participants were kids who hadn't seen the bodies and didn't know what 'muh-duh' was, or the most cynical old codger.

People wondered who the victims had been. No one in town recognized them; after a while, most decided they were outsiders who'd come to Umeura and found a bit more than they'd been expecting. Where had they come from? Who had they been? Had they truly been murderers, or had they fallen prey to one themselves? Some found it a little hard to believe the bodies—both of teenaged boys—belonged to the maniacal, laughing murderers that everyone was imagining.

Zank the Executioner. Akame of Night Raid. These were the monsters that the Empire had grown to fear, not barely-grown boys.

No one knew that one of those monsters was in the very same town, watching their reactions to her handiwork.

Akame didn't really need to know the specifics of every conversation, of course. As a matter of fact, she barely needed them at all. She was much more interested in watching the people near the main gate—specifically those who chose to leave.

Some had left for obvious reasons. Akame had watched a man bolt out of the Umeura Inn, practically dragging a woman and a little girl behind him as he headed for a nearby carriage, and she'd seen a pretty familiar tax collector cowering in the back window of another carriage. She'd expected that—finding two dead bodies in a town tended to shake it up a little.

But there were the others to consider, too, people who just seemed to be sauntering out for a walk, or taking their carriage out for a spin. Akame doubted that the two Group members she'd found had been the only ones in Umeura; the Group was big enough that they could afford to have a third person for each scouting party, one to alert the higher-ups if anything happened to the more _active_ members. It would be nearly impossible for her to tell just which of the bored-looking people leaving was that third person, but that didn't matter. Only one thing did.

One way or another, the Group would find out about this. And when they did…

She remembered a case that had been in one of Najenda's files. A town had caught two boys attempting to stage a raid on one of their farmers' silos, and had given them a nice stretch in the local jail in return. A few days later the two were inexplicably gone, a gaping hole blasted in the wall of their cell. Footprints had been found around the destruction, prints that belonged to at least _three_ distinct people...maybe more.

Similar cases had occurred across the Empire. Every so often, a delinquent of some kind would captured and brought to justice—only to be broken out again by some mysterious group.

Akame had a feeling she knew exactly _which_ group was responsible. As much much as she hated to say it, she had to admit: even if this was a collection of murdering scumbags, it was a collection of murdering scumbags who watched each other's backs. She hadn't seen that kind of loyalty much, both in her time as a member of Night Raid and as a servant of the Empire.

But that loyalty had its own pitfalls, too. Akame knew that from experience.

This was a Group that was terrified of seeing one of its members at the hands of another—and would do anything to fight that terror. But that begged another question: for a Group that sent five of its members to break out any member as soon as they were captured, what would they decide to do to a town that had killed two of their own?

* * *

"Sorry to bother you, but..."

For a moment, Tatsumi was tempted to ignore the voice. Eventually he sighed, turned, and looked at the speaker, some new guy whose name he couldn't remember at the moment. "Did the Leader send you?"

The guy nodded. "We're ready to move." He turned to leave, hesitated, and turned back. "Look, man...I heard about what happened. If you want, I can say that you're getting ready, buy you a little time until you're okay—"

"No." Tatsumi stood up. "Thanks, but I think you should join the others. I'm sure there's some plan for you guys to follow."

It seemed entirely too long before the guy finally turned and left. Tatsumi watched the doorway, made sure he was gone, and sat down again. _Until I'm_ okay _, huh?_

He closed his eyes.

The report had been as clear as it had needed to be. He'd never seen a body hanging from a rope before, but it was easy enough to imagine the dangling arms, slumped shoulders, and the head—tilted at an impossible angle…

Until he was _okay_?

Tatsumi opened his eyes and stood up once again. This time, when he checked the doorway, it was to make sure that his sword was leaning where he'd always left it. He strode towards it, picked it up, and strapped the scabbard to his belt.

Kind as the guy's offer had been, there was no way he would've been able to buy enough time for Tatsumi to be _okay_. He wasn't sure if any amount of time would be enough. But that didn't mean he couldn't start by destroying the people who had taken his friends from him and strung them up like bags of sand. As he started for the doorway, he knew that one thing was for certain.

 _Someone_ in Umeura had killed Tomeo—and when Tatsumi found out exactly who that was, he would be the one to kill him.

Then, maybe, he could start feeling _okay_.


	11. Chapter 10

**10**

The day after seeing what they'd thought was their greatest nightmare, the people of Umeura slept—unaware that a greater terror was watching them.

Tatsumi tightened his grip on his sword.

He could see the main gate from here, complete with its near-makeshift watchtowers. They seemed empty; if any guards were manning them at all, Tatsumi suspected that they would be half-asleep, if not downright unconscious.

He furrowed his brow. How could they be so lax, after what they had allowed to happen? At this rate an attacker could waltz right into the town, ready to do whatever they wanted—not that Tatsumi was complaining.

"We're not entering through the main gate," said Michael suddenly. He'd been standing by Tatsumi silently all this time, but now he spoke in a voice that demanded attention. "I'll admit that the security here seems to be quite lacking, but launching a frontal attack in plain sight would still be a little too rash for my taste."

"You're afraid of something from a place like _that?_ "

"This town isn't all we have to fear," Michael answered. "You read the report, yes?"

Did that question even need answering?

Michael didn't seem to pick up on the impact of his question. "The description of the bodies is what worries me," he said, his gaze focused intently on the town. "They were..."

Tatsumi did something he had never considered doing before: he interrupted Michael. "I know what happened! Why are we going over this?" His anger had abated slightly in the hours leading up to their journey to Umeura, but after this…

 _Now,_ it seemed, Michael could bother with delicacy. "I'm sorry," he said, turning to regard Tatsumi. "I know this is painful for you—and I assure you that it is for me, too. But this is a subject that we must broach, if we want to prevent any other tragedies from occurring tonight."

Tatsumi closed his eyes for a moment. Michael was right, of course—he usually was—but still, to think about this now… "They were killed by a sword," he said finally, after forcing his emotions down as best he could. "Then hung from the gate."

He exhaled slowly. There, he'd said it. What did this have to do with preventing any other tragedies?

"That's right. But there was another detail that you might have missed," Michael said. "Both bodies had peculiar markings on them, almost _stripes_...and in both cases, these stripes appeared to issue from the wounds. Now..." He smiled grimly at Tatsumi. "Wouldn't you agree that such a thing sounds rather like poison?"

At the moment, it really just sounded like Michael was having fun by redefining the ways that his friends had met their deaths, but Tatsumi couldn't say that. "I guess so," he said, through gritted teeth. He'd seen Michael act this coldly to other members of the Group, but experiencing it for himself was another story entirely.

More importantly: _why_ did this matter?

"You're familiar with Night Raid," Michael said. It wasn't a question.

"...yeah," Tatsumi said slowly. _A little_ too _familiar._ "But weren't they all killed years ago? Why bring them up now?"

Unless—

"Wrong." Michael was looking up at the sky absently, as if the word had simply been the name of some passing constellation and not an earth-shattering revelation. "Close, but not quite. One member is still gallivanting about."

It was hard to find an answer to that. Tatsumi thought of the posters that he'd seen so long ago, of the faces emblazoned on them. He hadn't forgotten a single detail of those bloodthirsty features. Which one of them had managed to survive? Would it be the scissors-wielding woman, the green-haired boy, or the egg-roll-headed soldier? Or, maybe…

Would it be a boy with eyes a certain shade of green and hair a certain shade of brown?

"Akame."

Tatsumi looked up, out of his reverie, to find Michael looking straight at him. "What?"

"Akame," Michael said, "of the Demon Sword Murasame. Famous not only as an assassin, but for her poisoned sword—which could apparently kill anyone who was so much as scratched by it. Now, do you understand why I was concerned by the description of the bodies?"

"You…" Tatsumi's eyes widened. "You think this...Akame...is hiding in _Umeura?_ "

Michael didn't even need to nod. "Let me put it this way," he said. "Imagine if, right now, I told you to charge in through the main gate of Umeura. Now imagine that I told you that we didn't have much time, and that you could only exact your revenge in the form of a single scratch." He paused. "How many people do you think you could hit before you ran out of time?"

"I…" Tatsumi knew the answer already. So did Michael. _All of them._ "What the heck are we supposed to do, then? Are we just supposed to give up? Leave their bodies to hang there?"

"Oh, I assure you—Umeura will receive its payment in full," Michael said. "We will, however, need to be a little more careful about it. Think of it as an operation against a town with some rather...unique...defenses."

Tatsumi stood up. "I'll tell the others—"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He had his sword, didn't he? Had there been something else that he'd brought? Tatsumi racked his brain for possibilities: supplies, armor, spare weapons—

"There's no guarantee that Akame is actually waiting down there," Michael said, chuckling lightly. "If she's not, then we'll be approaching little Umeura with a mindset fit for breaching the heart of the Capital itself. A great way to waste time, wouldn't you say?"

"But if she's there…"

Michael still sounded ridiculously calm. "Remember what I said earlier regarding our operations against heavily-guarded towns? What do we do in those situations?"

"We send…" Tatsumi stopped speaking, his mouth open half-sentence. "You want to send _scouts_ to check if she's there? But if they're caught—that's just like—"

"That's just like a good strategy," Michael said. "Now—stop worrying so much. I will find scouts, and they will understand exactly what they're risking and exactly what they're looking for. In the meantime...you get ready for the main course."

* * *

Akame had spent enough time picking off spies to know them when she saw them.

Of course, it helped that they were the only people on the streets at the moment. Even if she hadn't noticed their nervous glances and stilted steps—courtesy of the swords they were trying to hide under their jackets—the sound of their whispers would've been all she needed.

" _Anything?"_

" _These streets are too quiet. Where the hell_ is _everyone?"_

" _Don't talk so loud!"_

" _Why are we here, anyway? There's no point in scouting out a little town like this…what's the Leader thinking?"_

" _No idea. He just told us to look around real quick and then go back."_

" _Oh, yeah? Then we're done. Let's scram. Something about this place is giving me the creeps."_

Akame had stopped listening right about there. The whispered conversation had been enough to prove her suspicions.

The Group had arrived.

As she watched, the two men stopped whispering and turned around, walking away as awkwardly as they had come. It seemed like they'd decided that their five-minute survey of Umeura had been enough for their leader's demands. They now seemed much more focused on getting away, their quick glances back suggesting that they were even more nervous than their speech had let on.

It wouldn't take much to stop them. Just one slash with Murasame and they would be on the ground, the familiar stripes already beginning to appear—

 _Hold on._

Murasame's poison was what had given the sword its title as a demon sword, and rightfully so. The venom was so powerful that it burned the skin and shut down organs, even after it had been diluted down to a thousandth of its original power. The stripes that appeared on its victims' skin were literally its footprints, tracks left by something powerful enough to destroy any living thing in its wake.

But what if they acted as fingerprints, too—not for the venom, but for its wielder? The original Danger Beast, parent of Murasame's venom, was long dead. In that case, these scouts could very well have been sent to look for the last known wielder of that venom: her Akame had, after all, left a set of fingerprints all over the bodies of a certain pair of murderers.

She'd wondered what the point of sending them had been—even _they'd_ wondered it themselves—and this seemed as plausible an answer as any. Maybe they didn't know it themselves, but it was very likely that these two were acting as bait.

A grim smile appeared on Akame's face. So she _had_ managed to lure her prey to Umeura—and, in turn, that prey had tried to lure her.

Well, she wouldn't take the bait, but she wouldn't mind finding out where the fishing rod was. If anything, Akame suspected that these two were more like a miner's canary: their deaths would indicate her presence.

Instead, she would simply follow them back to their nest.

* * *

Tatsumi didn't relax until he saw the two scouts slip back out through the hole in the wall. "Michael," he hissed. "They're back."

Beside him, Michael stood up. "So they've returned, have they? And apparently without a single _scratch_ on them."

They watched the two men make their way towards them. From what Tatsumi could see, it seemed Michael was right—they were walking awkwardly, but not for any reason apart from simple caution and the weight of their swords.

Or, in other words, they seemed very alive.

"So we were worried about nothing?" Tatsumi asked.

Michael had an oddly pensive look on his face. "We'll talk about it later," he said, as the scouts approached. "For now, let me give them some general instructions regarding our entrance." He strode forward to meet the men.

Tatsumi watched him go, with some confusion. Didn't Michael want to ask them if they'd seen any signs of Akame, or anything else? Oh well—he supposed Michael had decided the threat was non-existent. There should've been more relief at the thought, but, oddly enough, Tatsumi felt a distinct pang of disappointment.

What the heck was _that_ about?

In front of him, the men were parting ways. "We're ready," Michael said, walking back towards Tatsumi. He stopped. "Something wrong?"

With some surprise, Tatsumi realized that his face had contracted into a frown. "It's nothing," he said, making his expression as neutral as he could. "Just thinking about what's about to happen, I guess."

"You'll be avenging your friends," Michael said. "Something both of us want. Something _everyone_ here wants."

He waved an arm in the direction of the breach in the wall. People could be seen massing around it, swords in hand and knapsacks slung over shoulders.

"They're ready for you." Michael put a hand on Tatsumi's shoulder. "Just say the word."

Tatsumi took a breath. Maybe this wouldn't resolve his anger—he already knew it wouldn't resolve his grief. Maybe some of Umeura hadn't been involved. But, he decided, this would make a good start. He raised a hand, and watched the first of the Group nod, draw their swords, and take their first steps into Umeura. He drew his own and prepared to follow the mass of people now moving towards the breach.

* * *

The men who had entered the breach struggled through the wall and stepped out, dusting themselves off and wiping their brows. They waited for some of their comrades to join them, before turning to look at the town they were invading. They weren't expecting much—from what they'd heard in the report, Umeura was just a backwater town, and this place that they had chosen was the most backwater part of that backwater town. They were expecting a collection of deserted huts, complete with some scattered fenceposts and forests of weeds.

Instead, they saw a girl walking towards them, sword drawn. She said a single word, something most of them didn't catch—

* * *

And a second later, the first scream of the night rang out.

* * *

 **Well, the holiday season is starting to come to an end—I hope you guys enjoyed the presents I tried to deliver ;)**

 **Now that I've just written three chapters for this story, I might take a break for a bit. There are other stories I'm trying to work on, and I might spend some time writing those before coming back to this. But never fear—this story won't ever be abandoned, and I don't think you'll have to wait long before the next chapter.**

 **We're at the climax now, folks.**

 **Before I go—I'm not sure if I ever said this before, but I enjoy reading each and every one of your reviews. If you've enjoyed reading so far, please leave a review! It'd make for a great present, and it lets me know that you guys are still out there. In the meantime, thanks to zachary2, Some Randy, GraphiicChaos, Shadow-Shinobi666, WiseGirl9859, and Personas for reviewing, and making my Christmas an even better one ;)**

 **Happy New Year. Here's to a great 2017.**


	12. Chapter 11

**11**

They lost about five men in the first two seconds.

Even then, Tatsumi didn't attribute any skill to their enemy. He just assumed the obvious: Michael had made a mistake. Umeura had been more careful than they'd expected, and the men who had tried to enter first had been caught in an ambush, like fish in a barrel. The Group would recover in time.

Still, Tatsumi couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. Usually he could sense his enemy's intent to kill as a faintly directional cloud of malice. This time—even if he concentrated—he felt only occasional flashes, and those likely belonged to members of the Group, as they tried to start fighting and were instantly…stopped.

Just who, exactly, were they facing?

Another scream rang out. Tatsumi gritted his teeth and looked at Michael, who was staring at the stream of people crowding into Umeura with an expression that Tatsumi couldn't quite recognize. "Did we miss something?" Tatsumi asked. "Something's going on in there! Our people—"

"Are fighting," Michael said suddenly, turning to look at Tatsumi. The man's brow was furrowed, and he spoke almost absently. "Umeura is resisting…but we're still superior in strength and numbers. It's not a town of warriors."

"But—" Tatsumi started to speak, but was cut off by another scream from within. "But they're obviously losing to _something_ in there!" he shouted, once its echoes had faded. "We can't just let them die! I'm helping them." He started forward, drew his sword—

"Stop."

For a second, Tatsumi genuinely doubted what his ears had told him. He turned to stare incredulously at Michael. "Did you just say…"

"Yes," Michael said. "I did."

Tatsumi stared at Michael for a few seconds more before closing his eyes and turning away. He clenched his fists. "I'm sorry. Maybe I didn't understand what I was getting into when I joined your Group. Maybe I've misunderstood it for these two years. But if you're going to treat these people like they're just some pawns of yours—"

Michael sighed. "You can't save them anyway."

"What?"

"Haven't you realized yet?" Michael held an arm towards the walls. "That's not Umeura those men are fighting." He looked Tatsumi in the eye. "It's _Akame._ " He sighed again, his brow furrowing. "I underestimated her."

"What, you didn't expect her not to snap up the men you laid out as bait?" Tatsumi gritted his teeth. Was the guy really just going to equivocate about his failure while his men died by the dozens? How had he not seen this side of him before?

"Tatsumi—"

"Forget it." Tatsumi turned and started towards the Group's entrance into Umeura, where even now there stood people waiting to enter. "Punish me all you want later, but I can't see you as this Group's leader right now."

"If you go in there, there will be nothing that I can do for you!" Michael roared. "The killer in there right now—"

"Killed my friends," Tatsumi said, stopping one last time. He didn't turn to look at Michael. "This _Akame_ killed my friends, and is killing Group men— _your men—_ right now." He scoffed. "And you want me to sit and watch?"

There was no answer.

Tatsumi raised his sword and walked towards the breach. As he got closer, he heard another scream echo through the night, this time apparently coming from a point very close to the breach. The Group members waiting to enter stopped and glanced at him nervously.

"Did the Leader say anything about what to do?" one of them asked, swallowing hard. "Everyone who's gone in there so far…"

"You're standing down," Tatsumi said. He stopped by one of the men and turned to look at Michael, who was still watching motionlessly from the same distance he had been for the past five minutes. Tatsumi turned away again. "That's what the Leader says. All of you stand down. I'm going to handle this."

The men standing by the gap looked at him, then at each other. As one, they lowered their swords and backed away.

Tatsumi raised his own sword and stepped forward, pausing before the entrance. He closed his eyes, readied himself as well as he could. Behind him, he heard one of the men say, "Good luck, sir." He gave a nod in response, still not opening his eyes.

Then Tatsumi opened his eyes, strengthened his grip on his blade, and burst through the gap and into Umeura with all his strength.

* * *

He landed on someone's chest.

An instant later, some of their chest landed on him—whatever had killed the poor guy had possessed enough force to rip the body clean in half. Tatsumi shifted slightly in surprise, and heard a slight _squish_ as something caught under his shoe.

Quickly, he got off the body, gritting his teeth tightly. He'd seen his fair share of bodies at this point, but that didn't make it easier every time—especially not with one like this. This was almost like looking at two bodies, each of which had been mauled by a bear.

Tatsumi turned away and raised his sword. There was no point thinking about this now—he had to be ready to confront the monster who had done this. For the first time, he surveyed his surroundings, noting with a frown that they seemed strangely foggy. He stared, feeling his brow furrow. It was a clear summer night. What was _this_ doing here? A second later, the answer came to him, and he bit back a curse.

In its time, the Group had made many specialized weapons to help the cause. Among these featured specialized grappling hooks, bags of sand and dirt to throw in pursuers' eyes…and long-lasting smoke bombs. Smoke bombs that had been brought to Umeura to aid in the attack and cause confusion.

Smoke bombs that, for whatever reason, had been activated. Smoke bombs that had been designed to create a fog two times as persistent as natural mist.

 _Shit._

Nothing for it now. Tatsumi shifted into a guard stance and tread carefully, listening for the slightest hint of life. There was only silence, and a slight breeze…

…and, to his left, the sound of shuffling footsteps, of someone trying and failing to move quietly.

With much more success in that regard, Tatsumi crept towards the sound, gathering his strength for an explosive swing—

And stopped. Stumbling out of the fog was the silhouette of a broad, burly man, wearing a Group-issued knapsack. Tatsumi drew a light breath. There was still one member to save.

Somehow, the man saw him first. He stumbled towards Tatsumi. "I thought I was the only one left!" he hissed, finally making it to Tatsumi. "We've got to get out of here! Some idiot set off the smoke bombs, so now there's no seeing the monster who's been killing us—"

"I know," Tatsumi said. "Come on." He walked forward an instant before stopping and looking at the man, who still seemed to be limping. "Were you hurt somewhere?"

"I'm fine," the man said, limping even more heavily as he said the words. "Just got a little scratch on the leg, but that'll heal soon enough." He shuffled forward another step, holding out—

"Your arms." Tatsumi stared. They were covered with thick bands of a dark…something, veins swelling to the surface. "What happened to your arms?" _This looks like…_

"My…?" The man looked down for a second, and then gave a low, guttural moan. "Oh…" And slowly, as if his bones were melting, the man collapsed.

Tatsumi knew he was dead.

He looked away from the body and scoured the fog, almost thinking that the anger he felt would be enough burn it away. It was no use—it swirled implacably around him, almost mocking him. The Group's ingenuity had been translated into incompetence. There would be no way to fix this, unless…

Unless…

Tatsumi shifted his sword one more time, and took a deep breath.

" _Akame!"_

He listened to the echoes of his shout die, the anger still roiling through him. So, even a direct challenge wouldn't end this little game of hide-and-seek? Fine. If this Akame was hiding, then maybe she knew that facing him right now would mean her death—

"The only reason you're still alive," a cold voice said, "is because I need to ask you a question."

* * *

Tatsumi— _the boy,_ Akame reminded herself furiously—didn't turn around at the sound of her voice.

That was fine. She'd seen his face enough times while he'd been stumbling through the fog in search of her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see it again. It would only make it harder to kill this boy if— _when_ —it came to it.

Then he spoke, and all thoughts about the boy's appearance left Akame's mind.

"What right does someone like you have to ask me anything?" he spat.

And now it wasn't just the boy's appearance that Akame was struggling with, but also his voice—both belonging to a long-dead friend, and both utterly suffused with hate…directed towards her.

She almost gave no response. Emotionally, she was already compromised far more than was healthy (or usual), and the risk of slipping into an actual conversation with this person was too great to say much at all.

But of course, she was still going to ask her question anyway. If she wanted to admit it to herself, it had held far more appeal for her than even the prospect of stopping yet another depraved murderer.

"Your name," Akame said. It was fine if this boy wasn't planning to answer her question voluntarily—his reaction would tell her all she needed. "Is it…"

She paused, mouth poised to say the word. Even before she spoke, the boy's shoulders had stiffened, as if he knew what she was about to ask.

Here it was, then. This answer would either change her world or continue its spiral into oblivion.

"Tatsumi," she said. "Is it Tatsumi?"

 _Yes_ , or _no_. She'd prepared herself as best she could for both replies; had briefly even considered a _maybe_. What she hadn't expected was for the boy to let out a cry of rage and burst towards her in a spray of dust, sword outstretched towards her throat.

Akame parried and leapt backwards, half out of intent and half out of necessity. The boy's speed was ferocious; as he flashed towards her in another blinding sweep, a traitorous part of Akame thought that there were only a few places where this kind of skill could be found—one of them in a boy whose name was—

" _Tatsumi!"_ she shouted.

For an instant, the boy actually jerked to a stop, astonishment visible on his face. Then, an instant later, he let out another cry, and his blade was upon her again.

* * *

What was this?

Who was she?

As the girl called out his name for the second time in a row, Tatsumi felt himself jerk to a treacherous stop. But there was no stopping now—he narrowed his eyes, and let the anger work on him again—

And struck—only for his blade to get blocked immediately—

At first, he had thought that his customary vision when it came to combat had dulled. As he dodged the girl's own attacks and watched her block his own with a frustrating ease, he cursed his ability's fickleness. Of all the times for it to fail…

It wasn't until he saw the leaf, curling lazily in the air as it fluttered to the ground behind the girl's head, that Tatsumi realized what was happening.

What he was up against.

He hadn't ever really stopped to watch leaves as they fell, but Tatsumi was fairly certain that they usually reached their destination in five seconds at most. But as he gritted his teeth, and leaped forward again to find an opening— _anything_ —in the girl's defense, he had a feeling that he already knew what he would see the next time he looked in the direction of the leaf.

Slash. Attack. Parry. Feint. Through it all, the girl's blade was barely visible, moving in flashes of silver, only fully visible when her blade collided with his. He stopped thinking at all for a time, trying only to defend and to attack. His body moved—purely on instinct—for what felt like hours.

So why was it, then, that as he pivoted around and saw the leaf _still_ falling behind the girl's shoulders, five seconds hadn't seemed to pass yet? The answer was terrifying. Obvious, in hindsight.

His ability had never deserted him—it simply wasn't enough to overcome the enemy in front of him. Perhaps she possessed it as well.

As Tatsumi parried a final slash from the girl, and leaped backwards, chest heaving, he saw the leaf speed up suddenly. Half a second later it curled to the ground, completing the journey it had started only four and a half seconds before.

His body, on the other hand, came to a rest after an hour's worth of work.

 _What is this?_

 _Who_ are _you?_

It wasn't until he heard the words that Tatsumi realized he'd spoken the last question aloud.

"You already know," the girl said. "My name is Akame." She paused, and there was _some_ kind of delay—not necessarily hesitation, perhaps just caution—before she spoke again. "And yours…"

Tatsumi almost lashed out again—anything to keep her from speaking further—but now he knew what the result of that would be. "Don't say it," he growled instead. "Just shut up."

"And why would I do that…Tatsumi?"

" _Shut up!"_ He swung his sword with all his strength, hoping that at least the words would stop coming, but the girl simply weaved around his strike and kept talking.

"Fine," she said. "I won't say that name. But what about _Sheele?_ What about _Bulat?_ What about _Mein?_ "

And, mid-swing, Tatsumi froze.

He knew the names, of course, remembered when he'd seen them stenciled across the posters in that cowardly tax collector's office. But it was more than that. He _knew_ them—perhaps he always had. This girl, however much he hated to admit it, had shown him that much.

 _What if…_

In that moment of hesitation, the girl kicked Tatsumi's sword out of his hand in a single smooth motion.

He watched, his senses flaring into action again, as the blade fell to the ground; embedded itself into the ground in a snail-like spray of dirt. Tatsumi took a single step in its direction, near-reflexively, and watched as the girl blurred into place in front of him.

And as she did, Tatsumi felt that his senses slacken to normal once again—and knew they would be staying there for a while.

"Where did those names come from?" the girl asked him, staring into his eyes with a blazing anger. "Where did _yours_?"

Tatsumi licked his lips nervously, suddenly very aware of the edge of the girl's blade, and the poison seething on its sheen. If he could distract her somehow, or weave around her, or even get his senses back for a second—

" _Listen to me!"_ Whatever calm had been on the girl's face was gone. "You know those names. We both know that. _So_ _where did they come from?_ " The girl took a step forward. "Either you answer that question now, or I'm actually going to start using this sword."

He narrowed his eyes at her. For now, it really seemed like she only intended to use the sword as a threat. But why? She hadn't hesitated to apply its true use to any other of the men who had entered before him. Which raised another question—

"Why do you even care?"

The girl didn't blink. "Answer the question."

 _We'll trade,_ Tatsumi almost said, before he clamped his mouth shut. What had he been thinking? This girl had killed his friends. She'd slaughtered the men lying around him. She would likely slaughter more, if Tatsumi let her pass. There was no mercy, no emotion to be found here.

So why, then, had he just caught himself about to engage in _banter?_

"Last chance."

The girl took another step forward as she spoke. Tatsumi's eyes flicked to his lost sword, then back to the girl, judging distances, calculating frantically…

No. There wouldn't be time. There weren't any opportunities here, not with the girl's eyes fixed directly on him. No opportunity to dive or to dodge, unless _something_ happened to take her eyes off him for a second—

And as he stared fixedly at the sword, trying his best to will it into his hand, the Group's little entrance through Umeura's back wall burst into a massive hole with a shower of splinters.

" _Let's go! Tatsumi's still in here!"_

" _Spread out! Stay cautious!"_

The voices reverberated through the artificial fog, joined by the faint echoes of other men's shouts.

" _Here's Hayata! And Eiichi just found Jotaro. Fuck, what the hell happened to…"_

Through it all, the girl's eyes never once left Tatsumi's. "We're out of time," she said finally. "If you're not going to answer my question, then…" She didn't finish her sentence. Instead, she simply began advancing towards him.

Tatsumi took a step back, but he refused to turn tail and run. He could still hear the rest of the Group searching for him, but he knew in his gut that they would never find him in time. They had moved too far away from the entrance during their fight—perhaps intentionally, on the girl's part—and the fog would prevent any speedy meetings with other Group members.

 _Though maybe,_ Tatsumi thought, as he watched the girl move towards him, _that's better for them._

And yet, as he watched his friends' murderer stride towards him, Tatsumi didn't see malevolent triumph or even dutiful boredom on the girl's face. No, instead he imagined that he saw— _regret?_ Just barely, he imagined that he heard her whisper:

"Sorry, Najenda. Guess you won't have anything to root for after all."

Tatsumi's eyes widened.

 _Najenda._ A memory had come back with the name, something from a dream he thought he had forgotten—

… _the two were walking towards his hiding place now, close enough for their muffled words to become clear sentences._

"… _jenda says…solo mission," the girl was saying. "She says you're ready…"_

Jenda. _Na_ jenda. Could it be—?

As the girl began swinging her sword, Tatsumi murmured, "…jenda. Solo mission." In that moment, even the sword approaching his neck was forgotten.

His instincts, however, remembered it just fine. With a dull roar, everything in his sight slowed to half its speed, as if his body was desperately trying to give him one last chance to get out of the way of the sword ripping toward his throat. It flowed another two centimeters…and yet, all Tatsumi could do was look up at the eyes of its owner, remembering—

Remembering a pair of red eyes exactly like them. Remembering a long-lost dream where they had gazed at a boy, crinkled with laughter, even _widened with surprise—_ but maybe that last memory hadn't been part of the dream.

Maybe that had been reflected in the eyes gazing down at him right now.

As he felt the first cold touch of metal against his neck, Tatsumi closed his own eyes. Any second now the blood— _his blood_ —would come spilling out, the pain and the poison would start coursing through his body, and death would follow shortly.

Half a second later, Tatsumi wrinkled his brow.

The touch of the metal didn't feel like that of a blade's edge. It felt more like a bar, as if the sword had been turned at the last instant, as if the flat were touching his neck instead—

Tatsumi opened his eyes to see the girl gazing down at him, an unreadable expression in her eyes—

And a second later, with a blow to the solar plexus that hit him so hard he barely realized it had happened, darkness followed.

* * *

 **Tatsumi's "bullet-time" perception is based on the first episode of the anime, in which Akame is able to dodge the guard's shots while watching them swirl by. I just extended it to all individuals of Night Raid's caliber.**

 **This was the chapter I wanted to write when I first wrote the story, and it's practically the reason** _ **Resurrection**_ **exists. Hopefully I did the moment justice.**

 **And now, as always—read and review, please…though I suppose that first request has already been covered. If you've enjoyed reading my voice, I wouldn't mind seeing a bit of yours ;)**


	13. Chapter 12

**12**

" _Elbows in."_

 _For a second, Tomeo remained in his stance, surprise all over his face. Finally, he slowly pulled his elbows in._

" _Better," his teacher said, walking around him slowly. He stopped. "But your feet—"_

" _Seriously?" Tomeo abandoned the stance and turned to look down at his teacher. "I've just been standing here and you've already picked at my stance about fifty times. I can't believe there's this much wrong with what I'm doing."_

" _Believe what you want," his teacher said. He walked a short distance away from Tomeo before turning and pointing his sword at Tomeo—a challenge. "Take your stance."_

" _Fine," Tomeo said, bending his knees and holding out his sword. "But if I hold my own here, you're gonna have to ease up on me a bit, okay?"_

 _There was no answer. Instead, his teacher walked leisurely towards him. Then, in a burst of movement, his sword darted out—first in one gleaming streak, then another—_

 _And suddenly its point was at Tomeo's throat._

 _His teacher held the sword there for a second more, then grinned and lowered it. "Guess you'll have to listen up a little more," he said, before turning and walking away._

 _Tomeo stood frozen, disbelief and some fear warring in his mind. Finally, one thing registered. "Hey, wait!" he called. "Where're you going? Aren't we going to go over my stance?"_

 _There was a laugh. "I like that attitude," his teacher called back, "but I think that's enough for today. And besides—I'm a little tired after last night's raid. You can always get some more training later!"_

 _Was that even going to help? The way he had just been outclassed, Tomeo wasn't sure he would ever be able to use a sword confidently knowing people like his teacher were out there. But then again…everyone had needed to start from somewhere, right?_

" _Can I ask you something?" he said, as he ran up beside his teacher._

 _His teacher looked up at him. "Hm?"_

" _What was it like for you, getting trained? I can't imagine you ever not knowing how to use a sword, but someone must've trained you, right? How did you get from there to—well—_ here _?"_

 _They walked on; no answer came. Tomeo began to think he'd said something wrong, when a sigh came from beside him._

" _I'll be honest," his teacher said. "I don't know."_

* * *

He was in the forest, rushing through the leaves with a speed that he couldn't imagine his uselessly fatigued legs achieving. Was he being carried? There was an oddly-shaped rock that kept digging into his side, but he barely felt it through the pounding ache in his head.

His eyes slid shut again, and the dreams began anew.

* * *

 _Only his grip on the short sword in his hand was helping him stand._

 _Well, that, and the shoulder that was supporting his entire left side. And the girl that his arm was slung around._

" _I'm sorry," he said, as they stumbled along together._

 _His head still ached—possibly from the exhaustion he felt, more likely because of the fact that he'd just gotten a karate chop in the middle of his skull—and the words came out more garbled than he would've liked. Still, he tried to continue._

" _I screwed up. I should've escaped from her earlier, hidden from Grand Chariot—"_

" _Don't worry." The girl almost sounded amused at this point. "As long as you're with us again." She gave him a brilliant smile—_

* * *

And, once again, he was jolted out of sleep. For a second, he still felt the touch of the girl's shoulder before it, too, faded away.

The feeling was almost like the one that had swamped him when he'd awoken on that road two years ago. The bone-crushing fatigue, at least, was identical—again, Tatsumi felt incapable of moving, or talking; even, honestly, of thinking. His muscles themselves seemed nearly stuck, like they were during his more tumultuous nights, when he'd awoken in the middle of his more terrifying dreams. Tatsumi could only hope that he was in the presence of something friendly. There was no fighting in this state, no escaping.

Really, the only obvious difference was that it wasn't gravel he was lying on, this time. It was—

A bed?

It was hard to tell. Wherever he was, he had somehow ended up lying face up. About the only thing he knew for sure about his surroundings was that the ceiling was rough wood; some kind of log cabin, maybe? There was so little to see. So little to be sure of.

But _man_ , whatever he was lying on sure felt like a pillow. Not many other things felt as comfortable.

His eyes closed again.

* * *

" _Long time no see, bud."_

 _He barely heard the words through the pain—the pain, which made his muscles scream and his bones crack. He barely saw the speaker through the blood in his eyes. The armor still crusted his body like a useless scab. He had been falling, seemingly only moments before, through a cacophony of voices and darkness._

 _So, of course, it came as a surprise when the hand landed on his shoulder and the man's face filled his vision—_

 _Along with the endless sea of white._

* * *

"Bulat!"

It was only after Tatsumi had opened his eyes that he realized he had been the one shouting. His hand was outstretched, reaching for some invisible goal—and somehow he was standing. For an instant, the fire that had been coursing through his bones seemed to burn even hotter. The pain made him drop to one knee, teeth clenched—

Until suddenly it faded away, and Tatsumi was left staring at a dusty wooden floorboard. A bead of sweat splattered into his field of view. He was breathing hard, chest heaving with gasps.

"You're awake."

Tatsumi froze at the sound of the voice.

He knew who it belonged to, of course. He had heard it too many times to forget its owner—and then again, it was always harder to forget details about a person that you had tried to kill. Tatsumi had hoped that the voice, which had seemed so calm and cold, would change to one of regret and pain. There was nothing else that its owner deserved, after what had been done to his friends. To Tomeo.

At least, that was how he had felt before his collapse.

Only now, after waking, did Tatsumi understand how one could react to the voice with something other than abject hatred. In fact, he almost thought that it would be possible to hear it as the voice of a—

 _No._

Tatsumi gritted his teeth. The person in the room with him right now could never be a friend.

 _Don't worry,_ a phantom voice whispered. _As long as you're with us again…_

"Shut up!" Tatsumi roared, slamming a hand into the floor. He didn't know why his mind had decided to dream this _monster_ as a supporting figure, as someone he'd actually apologize to, of all things—

But there was no way he'd ever let it happen in reality.

She was sure to say something to him—something more about _Bulat_ , or _Mein,_ or _Sheele_ , any second now. He would ignore her. There wasn't any way he could let himself listen to any of those words. The floorboards beside him shifted, undoubtedly as the girl got ready to speak. He clenched his eyes shut, in preparation for the sound of…

Silence.

No names, or any words at all, came.

When Tatsumi caved and finally glanced at the place that the girl's voice had come from, it was to see an empty doorway. He was alone again.

Warily, he got to his feet, listening intently for any sounds other than his own. But there was nothing to watch out for; nothing to hear. He was just in an empty room. The only other company was the bed, just resting against a wall as if it had just been dropped there, casually.

And, Tatsumi realized suddenly, maybe it had.

He'd been raring to find this girl, to finally avenge his friends. He remembered how their remains had been described—one with a oozing black smile in his throat, the other with his shattered kneecap, both bodies' veins swelling with poison. That, he would never forget.

What he had forgotten until now was the fact that he'd already confronted this girl once…and failed.

Now he remembered the sight of the leaf as it drifted slowly toward the ground, and the realization that—even at what he knew was his best—there was no way that he would ever defeat this girl. He'd been parried, almost casually, at every stroke he took. For someone like that, a bed can might really be a casual token, a simple frame to be dropped here and there. Would he really want to seek them out? At best, what awaited him was frustration and more failure.

And at worst…

 _But she carried you here,_ some part of him whispered. _And sometime before that, it was_ her _shoulders you were leaning on…_

"No!" Tatsumi whirled away from the door. Either way, it wouldn't be a good idea to seek out this girl—if only because there was a part of him that seemed insistent on not shutting the _hell_ up about her.

He needed to get out of here. Tatsumi glanced around the room quickly, at the floor, the bed, the window…

He blinked.

Tatsumi was across the room almost immediately, forcing the window's latch open and sliding its grimy panes up. Quickly, he surveyed the drop— _two stories, only about two_ —and the ground— _leaves, a whole drift of them_ —and made his decision, hoisting a leg up into the ledge—

"Don't do that."

Slowly, Tatsumi turned around.

A girl stood in the doorway now—a girl, yes, but not the one that he had been so fixated on. _This_ girl was one he could never imagine seeing in a place like this.

After all, what twelve—no, _ten_ -year-old would shack up with a killer?

"Kame said not to do that," the girl said, prompting another wave of shock in Tatsumi.

She could barely speak. If he'd seen a picture of her, Tatsumi would have sworn it was from a fairy tale. This girl didn't even seem to understand the implications of falling out a window. So once again— _why_ the heck was she here?

"Did she bring you here too?" Tatsumi asked urgently. "How long have you been here?" He started toward her, then stopped as she flinched back. "I won't hurt you. If you need help getting out of here…"

The girl watched him quietly for an instant. Without a sound, she turned and ran, back into the depths of whatever place they were in.

"Wait—" Tatsumi moved forward a few steps, before looking back at the window. The sun looked like it was just setting; the forest leaves glinted gold. In a few hours it would be too dark to find his way without stumbling into trees and branches—or something worse.

He took a single step towards the window. Then Tatsumi cursed, turned, and started for the doorway.

He stopped one time, just to consider his empty hands. Then he kept walking—swords hadn't done much good last time, anyway. Tatsumi would just have to hope that "Kame" had disappeared for long enough.

So, of course, Tatsumi was greeted by a familiar voice the instant he stepped out the door.

" _I won't hurt you."_ The words came almost contemplatively, from behind him.

Tatsumi felt the back of his neck begin to prickle again. And with that prickling came the familiar urge to turn and eliminate its true source—

But he couldn't.

 _She_ kept talking, apparently oblivious to his clenched fists and panting breaths. _"I'll help you get out of here,"_ she said, still in that strange tone. "You know"—suddenly she was talking as calmly as ever—"the last time I heard those words, it was a murderer who spoke them." She snorted. "I guess nothing's changed."

Tatsumi ignored her. She could say what she wanted; as long as she kept playing her little game, she was the one at a disadvantage. He scanned the hallway of doors that lay before him—some open, some closed.

Which,he wondered, would seem most appealing to a ten-year-old girl on the run?

And the words kept coming from behind. "The first time we heard those words, we were too late," the girl said. Was there regret in her voice? Any emotion at all? "But the second time—oh, we let him go, all right, the same way he'd been letting go all the kids in that village. But I wasn't the one who did it. The guy that was with me—the guy that cut off his leg and let him watch himself bleed out—he let him go. And do you know what he said?"

Tatsumi could no longer pretend—not even to himself—that he wasn't listening.

" _Some days, I can just accept that shit like this happens,_ " the girl said. " _But others…"_

 _I don't get why they do it._

Tatsumi thought the words as they fell from the girl's lips, and almost wasn't surprised as they matched—syllable for syllable.

Though this was really because he was too busy being surprised by the images that were suddenly flashing through his mind, images so vivid they almost seemed to be in front of his eyes.

Images, or memories?

 _The bodies hung in the charnel house, almost indistinguishable from the pigs that dangled around them. Only their size betrayed the true difference, like sunflowers from a field. Some were so rotted as to be unrecognizable._

 _But for one._

 _The white headband around the corpse's forehead had retained its color through rot and refuse. And the face that revealed itself as the body swung, slowly around, was just almost as preserved._

 _Ieyasu._

 _The murderer had found Ieyasu, as he had found the rest of the children in the town—_

Wait. No.

Tatsumi dropped to his knees. "No, this is wrong," he muttered. "Ieyasu wasn't there…"

And suddenly a wave of grief washed through him, one that rooted him to the wood beneath his fingers and filled his vision with tears. What did it matter where Ieyasu was? There was only one fact that mattered for him now.

"He's dead," Tatsumi gasped. "He's dead, and Sayo died with him too…"

How could he have forgotten his greatest friends? How could he have forgotten his village? His time with the Group had felt like a time with brothers, perhaps, but he had never refound his family.

Because he had forgotten. Why had he forgotten?

"What did you do?" he snarled, looking up suddenly at the creature standing over him. "What did you do to me?"

He tried to think, tried to force his mind back to that time any way he could. He must've been separated from them—yes—or he would never have escaped whatever had killed them. But at some point, he'd found them again, just in time to be too late—

A single sob burst out of him. They'd gone to the Capitol to find better fortune. Instead they'd found death, and he…

What had he found?

He knew what he'd lost, at least.

"Why can't I remember anything? Did you bring me here because I'm starting to remember again? How many times have you done this to me, you b—"

Suddenly, Tatsumi stopped talking. For a moment—if only a moment—all his anger and pain were replaced by shock at the sight in front of him.

And, as he stared, another tear rolled down the girl's cheeks.

When she spoke, her voice shook. "You...you did find a family," she said. "You found Night Raid."

* * *

 **Sorry. I'm back in college and getting smothered by homework, so I've had limited time to write this. I've also been having some killer cases of writer's block. All of this doesn't excuse the fact that I'm taking so long to write, of course, but know this - I'm not abandoning this story. I'm just one slow-ass writer.**


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